The Drifting Swordsman
by Bartholomew Kamiro
Summary: He was feared as the Sword Demon, beloved as the Sword Saint. This is his journey; the journey of a young boy from the plains of Sacae to the most famous and infamous swordsman in Elibe. This is Karel's story.
1. First Blood

_A/N: Welcome to m__y latest project for FE7. As the summary indicates, this is a story focused on Karel, the Sword Demon of FE7 and later Sword Saint of FE6. I always enjoyed Karel's character but found elements confusing or muddled at best going off of what Intelligent Systems gives us. For instance, no one knows what Karel was like before he was a demon, what caused him to become one, or even what prompted his change from demon to saint. Thus, consider this my earnest attempt to connect the dots and fill in the gaps, so to speak. I will not say much else other than thank you for stopping by and I hope you enjoy what I have to offer. If you have any criticisms or comments, feel free to review._

_Finally, a very generous thank you goes to Dieuwtjin for his services as my beta reader.  
_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem. It is the property of Nintendo and Intelligent Systems.  
_

Prologue: First Blood

It was always the same thing each night. He didn't dream anymore like he had in the past. Whenever he closed his eyes now, all he saw was fire. There were times when he woke up and could taste the acrid smoke. In the middle of the fire stood a man, clad in a blue robe, his sword dripping with blood. He'd turn, and that would be when he would wake up.

It had been another one of those nights for him. The crow of the morning cuckoo had not even sounded and Karel was already awake. He lay upon the straw woven mat, staring blankly at the ceiling of the tent. He rolled over onto his side and felt the corners of his mouth turn up. His younger sister was curled up into a ball, the blanket pulled tight over her. She had a content smile on her face. He rolled over again, trying to force himself back to sleep, but no matter how much he tossed and turned he knew it was pointless.

As silently as he could, he dressed himself in his green robe, buckled his belt, and slipped on his boots and gauntlets. He retrieved a long, curved sword protected by a worn leather sheath and affixed the weapon to his belt. He snatched one last look at his sister and made sure she was still asleep. He knew all too well how she would demand to go with him if he woke her.

He stepped lightly around the few tents that made up his clan's camp. The grass, still wet with the morning dew, crunched softly under his boots. He passed the goat pen; both of them still asleep as their stomachs rose and fell in a constant rhythm.

The training grounds were located just to the east of the camp, upon a barren, flat hill. From the top, Karel could clearly make out the camp of his clan. A pang of regret ran through him; he remembered when the tents used to reach almost to the grounds, yet now they seemed so far away. He drew his sword and cleared his mind.

Karel closed his eyes and felt the wind rustle his gray-black hair. Then he began. His blade moved slowly at first, with refined control and practice. A thrust fluidly turned into a slash; his slash seamlessly morphed into a chop. As he continued, the speed increased. To one watching, it was almost like watching a beautiful, deadly dance. As he stopped, he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead.

His muscles were already aching in certain places. He needed to continue though. If one routine like this was enough to tire him out, then he would never accomplish anything. He refused to allow himself to stand by and be helpless again.

Karel was about to begin when he was suddenly aware of another's presence. He glanced over and saw his father watching him, his cold gray eyes appraising every action he made. There was no warmth in those eyes, not anymore. Any traces of it had been snuffed out like the flames of that night.

Neither moved nor spoke. Karel was not sure what he could say and finally managed a half-smile greeting. His father merely walked to his place opposite Karel. His hand rested firmly over the hilt of the Wo Dao, the clan's most prized possession.

"Let us begin," he said simply.

The training went on for almost an hour. The only sounds to be heard came from his father constantly barking out critiques or new patterns for Karel to perform. He finished the routine and nearly collapsed from exhaustion. He used his sword as a prop to help support him.

"Again. The last strike was too slow. Feel the force carry you all the way through from beginning to end."

Karel would have protested if it had done any good. Any words would be viewed as mere excuses. He barely managed a nod before he started the pattern of strikes once again. His father watched every detail, never once blinking. Karel finished and looked over at his father. There was no change in the man's face.

"Your thrusts lack conviction," criticized Ryland.

"How exactly do I add 'conviction' to a thrust?" asked Karel.

"You show hesitation," clarified his father. "In battle, that will mean the difference between life and death. An opponent with the intent to kill is entirely different from one without."

"But if I'm skilled enough to beat someone without killing them, what difference does it make?" replied Karel.

"Don't let your skill go to your head!" shot back his father, causing Karel to jump. He shook his head. "How long are you going to keep clinging to such worthless sentiments? You will never master the blade, much less be able to protect anything at this rate."

Karel ground his teeth in frustration. "But what is the point in needlessly spilling blood?"

"And what makes you believe you can be a swordsman without the intent to kill?" his father calmly asked in turn.

Karel had no answer for him; nothing he ever said or did seemed right anymore. Nothing was ever good enough for his father. No matter how much he improved, his father's shadow always loomed over him. It just wasn't fair.

"Do you remember the words I spoke to you when I first handed you a sword?" asked his father.

Karel nodded. He remembered them all too well. He spoke them slowly in a monotone voice. "Swords are weapons that kill. The way of the sword is the art of killing."

"Exactly." His father began to pace. "To try and wield a sword as well as think you can spare the life of your foe is simply naïve. Only a child would still believe he could have both."

Something about the way he said "child" made Karel snap. He went through the motions from the earlier routine perfectly and shoved all his anger into the final thrust. The blade stopped an inch from his father's throat. The man hadn't even flinched, much to Karel's frustration.

"Go on. Finish it." Karel froze and then backed away. His father snorted in disgust. "You lack the resolve to do what is necessary." With a gloved hand, his father flicked Karel's blade away from his face like an annoying fly.

"Stop talking like it's so simple!" shot back Karel. His voice got smaller. "You can't tell me you actually wanted me to kill you!"

His father shook his head. "I am disappointed. I had expected better of the boy who practically begged me to teach him."

"I…that-"

"Enough," cut off his father. "Return here tonight. Then, we will test your resolve."

His father left him as though the two had been having a casual conversation. Karel slumped to his knees as though he had the wind punched out of him. Part of him wanted to cry while the other part wanted to punch his father in the face. More than anything, he wanted his father just to put his hand on his shoulder and tell him that it was all right. That was done though. The days when his father used to carry him on his shoulders, or used to gently smile and encourage him were no more.

Karel steadied his breathing and returned to the camp. He spotted his Uncle Raidal sitting with Karla. He seemed to be telling her a story, and a riveting one at that since she seemed completely oblivious to all else at the moment. His uncle stopped and glanced over in Karel's direction, flashing him what only could be a sympathetic smile. Karel was half-tempted to ask his uncle if he had heard but was interrupted when Karla dashed over and gripped him in a tight hug. Karel nearly fell over backwards from the sudden weight. "Whoa! Easy there, Karla."

"Are you ready to keep your promise?" she asked with a grin.

"Promise?"

Her face shifted to a pout. "Don't tell me you forgot already! The promise you made to me yesterday."

Karel allowed himself a small grin. Following his session with his father, he actually had forgotten. If he told Karla that, he would never hear the end of it. "Of course I didn't forget."

She narrowed her eyes. "Liar."

Karel shook his head in defeat. "All right, I don't remember. But whatever I promised still stands."

Karla seemed to brighten somewhat at that. "You promised to show me where the deer grazed and take me close, remember?"

He looked over at his uncle. "Is that all right, Uncle?" he asked sheepishly.

Raidal smiled. "Your father and elder brothers are out on a job for the afternoon. As long as you get back before dinner, I see no harm in it."

"Thanks, Uncle! Well then, let's go," said Karel with a broad grin. His sister took his arm and all but dragged him out of the camp. He could feel her enthusiasm and energy infect him and by the time they had actually found the deer, the morning seemed like a distant memory.

-x-

The afternoon was drawing late and Karel realized it was time for them to head back. As he got closer to the camp, the events of the morning came to the fore of his thoughts. His father had said he intended to test Karel's resolve. He could only wonder such a statement meant.

Upon feeling a tug on his sleeve, Karel looked down and saw Karla seemed concerned. "My apologies. Did I space out for a bit?"

"Are you okay, brother? You seemed really sad when you came back."

She was more observant than he gave her credit for; that or he was just that bad at hiding his feelings. "Father and I had a little argument, that's all."

"It's just that you still look sad and it seems like it's been happening a lot more lately," she said softly.

Karel gave her a brief poke in the forehead, startling her as she rubbed the spot. "I'm sorry, Karla. I'll try and be more cheerful from now on."

She seemed to accept that answer, as her cheery smile returned like it had never left. As the two neared the firepit, Karel could smell the aroma of baked flatbread. His mother along with his aunt sat around the fire, tending to the dough as it cooked on a hot rock. Upon seeing the two, his mother smiled. A few young girls and boys were already gathered around, waiting for the breads to finish cooking.

"Did you two have fun?" she asked softly. Karla ran over and gave her mother a hug.

"Yeah! It was great! Karel showed me the deer and we even got close enough to touch one."

His mother placed a comforting arm around his little sister. "Well I'm glad to hear the two of you had a good time. Dinner will be ready soon. Karel, why don't you go and clean up a bit before your father returns? He said that tonight was an important time for you."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," said Karel with an awkward grin.

"More training, little Karel? It's a wonder you haven't been worked to death yet," mused his aunt.

"Ryland works them hard because he knows he needs to," interjected his mother. "Besides, Karel requested to be taught personally by his father. There isn't a better swordsman in the clan he could learn from."

His aunt sighed. "Forgive this old lady's musings."

"It's fine, Aunt Marel," replied Karel. "I have learned a lot in the last few months and I really do enjoy swordsmanship."

He returned to his tent and cleaned up, mentally trying to refocus for the evening test his father had planned for him.

-x-

By the time he had arrived at the training grounds, it was already sunset. The plains seemed to have borrowed the red hue in place of their usual green, giving the grass a red and gold brilliance. His father was likely already there; shortly after his and Karel's brothers' return, his father had departed saying he had to prepare for the evening.

He was surprised when he arrived at the top to see his father was not alone. He had with him a man Karel had never seen before in his life. The man had both his hands and knees tied. What stuck out the most to Karel were his eyes; they were filled with fear. Next to him was something smaller covered in a brown cloak.

"Father, what's going on?" asked Karel hesitantly.

"I told you. We are going to test your resolve. It is time to determine if you have the conviction to do what is necessary," said his father plainly.

"W-what are you saying?"

His father pointed to the sword at Karel's waist. "Simple. Show me that you can discard your childish ideas of compassion. Here and now, you will kill this man."

The man's eyes bulged and he began to squirm wildly about. His mouth was gagged so all he could utter were muffled shouts. Karel froze, uncertain about what he had just heard. His father kicked the man in the knees forcing him to kneel.

"Draw your sword and do it, Karel," ordered his father.

Karel looked from the man, who was now crying profusely, to his father. His father didn't say any more and merely gestured once again to Karel's sword. Karel gulped and nodded.

Slowly, he removed the sword from its sheath and gripped it tightly with both his hands. He touched the blade to the man's neck, causing him to look up at Karel. His eyes were pleading for Karel to spare him.

Karel held the blade there for what felt like an eternity. He could feel his heartbeat pounding inside his head. The blade was visibly shaking in his grip.

"I…I can't do it," he said, letting the blade go slack.

"There is no reason to feel sympathy for this man. He murdered his clansmen in hopes of acquiring their wealth for himself."

"It's not that…"

His father pressed further. "Discard your hesitation!" he roared suddenly. "Such hesitation is what led to the deaths of your brother and fellow clansmen!"

Karel bit down on his lip and slowly replaced the sword over the man's neck. He breathing felt forced and the sword was like a dead weight in his arms. He couldn't move it, no matter how much he willed it. He looked into the man's eyes, and could see how much they were begging him not to do it. Karel could feel tears starting to form in his eyes.

"I can't!" shouted Karel emphatically as he backed away. It all was wrong. It all felt so wrong.

"Did you not tell me it was your desire to become stronger, strong enough to prevent that tragedy from happening again?" growled his father. "Were those empty words just meant to console a guilty conscience?"

"Stop!" roared Karel. Tears were now freely flowing down his face. "I can't do it. I'll do any other test you have, just not this one. Please…just stop."

His father finally let out a sigh. "I was hoping I would not have to resort to this, but you have forced my hand."

Karel looked up in confusion. "What are you saying?"

His father removed the cloak and his mind went blank. It didn't make sense. She shouldn't be here, not her.

_Karla…_ thought Karel, his entire being numb with shock.

She was clearly confused but upon seeing her brother's face started to worry.

"Broth-" His father cut her off by grabbing the collar of her robe.

"Let me make this easy for you Karel," said his father. He drew the Wo Dao from its sheath and placed the edge of the blade to her neck. "Either you kill the man before you, or Karla will die instead."

"Father…please…don't do this," begged Karel. "She's family! She doesn't need to be involved!"

Why Karla? How did she get pulled into this? Why? Did mother allow it? Just what was going on. Why? Why? WHY?!

"I'll give you until the count of three. Remember that if her blood spills, it will be on your hands," added his father. Karel was about to say something when his father cut him off. "No more words. If you have something to say, say it with your sword. One."

Think! He had to think! There was no time though. There wasn't any time to think, no time to do anything but act.

"Two."

The sword was still in his hand. He could feel his grip tightening. Karla was in tears, saying something that he couldn't hear. The sound of blood rushing through his head deafened him to everything but his father's voice.

"Three."

"AAAAAAHHHHHH!" All thought was lost as he let out a bestial roar.

The sword came down.

There was a dull thud as the man's head fell from his body. Crimson blood pooled around the headless body, staining the hilltop. The thought of what he had just done didn't even register with his mind. His breathing was heavy and fast. He looked over and saw that Karla was fine; the Wo Dao was safely tucked within its sheath at his father's side. His father regarded him with a smile. It was wrong. He wished then and there that he would never have to see that smile again.

He had killed him.

He was only ten years old.


	2. A Way of Life

Chapter 1: A Way of Life

_Four years later…_

Karel exhaled slowly, his breath fogging almost instantly in the cold morning air. The tall grass that covered him was covered by a thin veil of frost, just enough to give the green blades a white sheath. He kept his body pressed close to the ground, the green cloak loosely covering his body. He was practically invisible within the patch of grass.

A short distance away, he observed a small camp slowly come to life. The camp was clearly only a temporary one; the tents were made from cloth rather than animal skin. Cloth could be stored easier than skin, but in the cold east of Sacae animal skin tents were practically a necessity to survive. One man lumbered out and began to dismantle the tents. His beard and hair were unkempt and from the way he fumbled with the knots, he was likely hungover from an excess of booze.

Karel mentally smirked. Clearly these men thought they were safe and wasted away the night celebrating. They were more foolish than the usual fare.

Another man emerged from the same tent and muttered something inaudible before helping the first take down his tent. Two more men emerged the second tent and began to do the same. There was not even an attempt to build a fire. It seemed they intended to put as much distance behind them as possible before resting. Perhaps they were not so dumb after all.

Karel shifted his gaze to the left of the camp. Barely, he could make out the small strand of black hair that belonged to his brother, Peta. Karel's hand gripped his iron sword close to his body, his knees slowly flexing.

It was time.

There was a noticeable rustle in the grass where Peta was hidden. Two of the men looked up and motioned to the others. The other pair nodded and packed up their tent faster while the two drew their weapons, an axe and sword, as they slowly approached the suspicious patch. Their backs were completely facing Karel.

He kicked off from his spot, moving with incredible speed. The two men packing the tent spotted him and tried to shout a warning but it was too late. Before the swordsman could turn around, Karel drew his blade. In one arc, he rent the man in two. Using the force of the slash, he slammed his left foot into the ground as a pivot. The second man turned to face him just in time for Karel to thrust his sword through his throat. The man choked on his own blood before sliding off the blade.

The other two men had retrieved their weapons. They charged at Karel but one stopped suddenly as a scarlet blade bloomed from his chest. The other stopped in shock at the second attacker, giving Karel the opportunity he needed. He lunged forward and in one thrust, pierced the man's heart. The look of surprise didn't fade even as Karel withdrew the sword. The lifeblood of the fallen men mingled with white and green of the plains.

"Take a look in that set over there. I'll check this one," ordered Peta. Karel nodded and examined the bag with the packed tent. He rummaged through the items, coming across some spare gold pieces and some pipeweed, but not the item they were seeking. He investigated the body of the man he stabbed in the throat. Around his neck was a leather crest embroidered with a sparrow holding a dagger in its beak.

"It's in yours," said Karel. "This one is clean save for some loose change."

Peta nodded and shortly thereafter emerged with a proud grin. In his hand he held two pendants. A silver frame encased the centers, which housed a rare white heron feather in each. He lightly tossed the two in the air before catching them and slipping them into one of the many pockets adorning his sandy brown coat.

"That makes this job a wrap. Hate to say it, but the Cohtan are a pretty pathetic clan if all it took were these four to make off with their clan heirlooms," remarked Peta.

Karel flicked the blood off his sword and returned it to his sheath. "The Cohtan were attacked by the lorin from the looks of the clan crest one of them wore."

"The Iorin, eh? They always were a bunch of rough thugs, but stealing seems a little low even for them." Peta shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Whatever though. As long as it gives us a job to do, I frankly couldn't care less what their motives are. And it doesn't hurt that they carry some good loot on them either." He showed off a silver ring he found on one of the bodies. It had a crest like the one Karel had seen earlier.

The sun had just started to emerge over the mountains to the east. As it reflected on the grass, it almost seemed like the fields were sparkling.

"If we hurry back to Dugral, we should be able to make it back home by high noon."

Karel squinted his eyes. "Let's go."

-x-

Dugral was a city by Sacaen standards. While it was nowhere near as large as the trade hub and capital of Bulgar, it was one of the few places in Sacae with established buildings and a fixed market. There was no wall to protect the town, but it also didn't need one. Dugral shared the protection of the clans that relied upon it. Any bandit foolish enough to even try and pillage Dugral would soon face the blades and arrows of the five clans that relied upon it for the various goods and services they could only find here.

Peta and Karel made their way through the marketplace and to their destination, a moderately large tavern called the Prancing Deer. As the two stepped in, the smell of freshly baked food hit Karel's nose right away. He could feel his stomach growling.

The Prancing Deer was not just an ordinary tavern. It also served as a hub for information and potential clients. Any and all mercenary work was handled out of the dealer in the back, a broker of sorts for any and all potential job offerings.

"Oi, Hanks!" called Peta. He knocked on the door a couple of times. "Hanks!"

Karel shrugged his shoulders. "If he's drunk, will it really matter if we go in anyway?"

Peta returned the shrug and grinned. He twisted the handle and flung the door open. Sitting behind a rotting desk, his head covered by a piece of paper, and snoring loudly was Hanks. Peta went over and pulled the piece of paper off and then gave Hanks's shoulder a good shake.

"Huh?! Wha?! What's going on?" panicked Hanks as he flailed around. Upon seeing whom his guests were, he cleared his throat and tried to smooth his hair over his continually growing bald spot.

"You know, it's polite to knock before disturbing an old man's sleep," said Hanks as he busily began piling up his papers. "So what are you doing here so early anyway?"

"The job's done," said Karel simply. Peta dropped a small satchel on the table. Hanks pulled out the two pendants and retrieved his monocle. He appraised both for a few minutes before giving a satisfied nod.

"Yep, these are the items all right. I have to give you boys credit for how fast you work. I only gave you that job two days ago."

"We didn't do this as a charity service, Hanks," reminded Peta.

The old information broker nodded and pulled out a drawer. He counted out the gold pieces and placed them in the satchel before handing it to Peta. "That's one hundred fifty gold. Don't go spending it all at once."

"C'mon Hanks, who do you think we are?" Peta gave the bag a jingle and then pocketed it. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Yeah, yeah. Next time try to come at a more reasonable hour," mumbled Hanks as he propped his head back on his chair to resume his nap.

Karel lingered in the tavern for a moment, the smell of food even more enticing than before. His fingers played with the money he'd picked up from the men earlier. "What do you say we go for a meal before heading back?"

Peta considered it for a moment before giving it a smile of approval. "Sure. I don't think we've had anything besides jerky and that rock-hard flatbread for two days now anyway."

The two were treated to a warm bowl of stew and some freshly baked bread. Karel devoured the stew. It was perhaps a bit to salty but to have something warm and substantial to put in his stomach easily outweighed any taste issues. The bread was even better; it was fluffy and soft, just like the bread Lycian merchants would bring with them.

"Phew, that really hit the spot!" proclaimed Peta. "Good idea, little brother."

Karel allowed himself a half-smile as he wiped up the rest of his stew with his last bite of bread. "I wish mother could cook like this."

"Haha! Given how you eat though, I think you'd eat us out of our tents," joked Peta.

Karel chose this as a prime moment to stuff a heavy spoonful of the stew in his mouth.

Peta let out a sigh. "Well, it's like things are going to change right away anyway. C'mon. I'm ready to get back home and let loose for a bit."

Karel nodded and finished off his meal with a drink of water. As the two left, the door suddenly opened and nearly decked Peta. Two men, about six inches taller than Karel strutted on in; one of them nearly bumped into Karel

"Hey, watch where yer goin' brat!" barked the man.

"Sorry," said Karel without a hint of apology in his voice. As he passed the man, Karel spotted a tattoo on his arm. It was the same crest as earlier. "You're from the Iorin clan, aren't you?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, what's it to you?"

Karel turned to leave. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Wait! Wait you two!" came Hanks' scratchy voice. "Get back in here."

"Wonder what he wants," muttered Peta. The pair stepped back into his office and shut the door behind them. Hanks was busy muddling through a drawer looking for something. After a moment, he emerged with a small document.

"Yes, here we are. If the white heron pendants are recovered within the week, there is to be an additional twenty-five gold piece bonus," read Hanks aloud.

"Wow, really?" asked Peta. Hanks nodded and slid a satchel with the bonus money across the desk. "Well, that's awfully kind of you old-timer. Here I thought you'd just pocket the money yourself."

"I run an honest business here! Don't go badmouthing it!" shot back Hanks.

"Sure, sure, take it easy old man," chuckled Peta as they bade farewell with a wave. They stepped out of the door and were about to leave when the two men from earlier stood to block their path.

"You know, I didn't realize you two were members of the Iorin clan," growled the man Karel had nearly bumped into earlier.

Peta cracked a strange smile. "I don't know exactly what you're talking about."

He pointed to Peta's hand. "That ring you're wearing is a clan ring, one of three. Only recognized individuals in the clan are given those."

Peta cast a look at it and shrugged. "Well, imagine that."

Both men had a twisted grin. "You see, some of our guys were returnin' from a mission and one of them had that ring. We were going to meet up with 'em here. Strange thing is, I don't see 'em anywhere." He glared at Karel. "So what do you think happened to 'em?"

Karel regarded them both cooly. "You'd be better off not asking."

Both men placed their hands on their swords. Peta moved instantly. Before one of the men could draw, Peta had slammed his sword through the first man's heart. A collective gasp enveloped the tavern as he withdrew his sword, a twisted grin on his face. The other man was about to draw when Karel closed the distance with a single step. His hand was firmly pressed against the hilt of the man's blade, holding it in place.

"I'd leave now, unless you want to end up like your partner," said Karel calmly. His expression masked the fire that clearly burned behind his eyes.

The man regarded the two brothers with a mix of fear and fury. He took his hand off the sword and slowly backed away. "Don't think this is the last you've seen of us. The Iorin clan never forgets those that cross it. You'd do well to remember that, brat."

He bolted out the door. The tavern atmosphere was still tense. Peta left behind a few gold coins as recompense for his actions.

"Talk about bad luck. I hope the big lug isn't too much trouble to clean up," remarked Peta.

"It was technically your fault for showing off that ring in the first place. Isn't the older brother supposed to set the example for the younger?" asked Karel with a small grin.

"Fair enough," said Peta. "Although, that does beg a question on my end. Why'd you hold back in the tavern? You could've taken out the guy before he even blinked."

"Was there a reason I should have killed him?" responded Karel.

Peta let out a short snort. "You are funny sometimes. Father always did say you were the oddball of the family." Karel didn't say anything but avoided making eye contact with his brother. "Well, let's get out here."

The two brothers started off for home, walking in the direction of the rising sun.

-x-

Karel awoke from his nap and saw that it was already sunset. He and Peta had returned shortly after noon but both of them had collapsed almost immediately once they made it to their tents. He sat up and smoothened out a piece of his gray-black hair he felt sticking up. He was glad he kept his hair shorter, if only because he couldn't imagine how much of a pain it would be to deal with if it was long.

He stepped outside and saw the fire at the center of the camp still burned. He could hear the sound of a reed flute from firepit. He allowed himself a small smile as he neared the sound. His Uncle Raidal sat near the fire, playing a soft tune. Karel took a seat and listened until his uncle finished the song.

"So, the slumbering hero awakens," teased his uncle. "I heard from Peta that the job was a success. Well done."

Karel acknowledged it with a simple nod. "It was straightforward, although we bumped into some of our target's clan members in the aftermath."

"I'd heard about that too." His uncle scratched his graying beard. "In my history, the Iorin have been all bark and no bite. They like to pretend they are the biggest frog in the pond when in reality they are simply the loudest."

"That's a good way to put it." Karel threw a few twigs into the fire, watching as the wood slowly splintered and was consumed.

"I realized today that it is almost your fifteenth birthday," commented Raidal. "Hard to believe there was a time when you were so little I could carry you on my shoulders."

"Aren't you the one who says you're never too old to try?" Karel and his uncle looked at each other for a moment before both began chuckling and then laughing.

"Those days have long since left us," came a deep voice. Karel glanced over and saw his father walk slowly towards the fire pit. The hilt of the Wo Dao reflected the light given off by the fire.

"Ryland, it is good to see you return," greeted his uncle. "You should join us. Perhaps I can interest you in a new tune I've been working on?"

"Stow it, Raidal," growled Ryland. "I don't have time for your nonsense tonight."

"My apologies, brother."

Karel's gaze met his father's. For a moment, neither said anything. Finally his father looked away and kept walking in the direction of his tent. Karel's gaze didn't leave his back until he disappeared into the tent.

"He would be the one to insist that those days have long since left us," muttered Karel.

His uncle let out a sigh. "You should not be so quick to pass judgment upon him, Karel. The burden he carries on his shoulders is particularly heavy, may Father Sky and Mother Earth help him. Much has changed since then and your father has done everything in his power to help prevent another tragedy like it."

"Those are just excuses," said Karel flatly.

"We all lost something important that night."

"And some of us lost more than others."

Without another word, Karel got up and returned to his tent and lay down on his mat. He closed his eyes.

It never changed. Nothing did. Ever since that day, it was as though time had frozen. It was just accepted.

This was life.

_A/N: I usually will put my author's notes at the end rather than beginning of the chapters. As we continue along Karel's journey, it is my hope to also try and flesh out Sacae more as well (as it is equally ambiguous on many instances), so keep an eye out for that as we continue. Thanks for reading._


	3. Burden of the Past

Chapter 2: Burden of the Past

Karel opened his eyes. From the sound of the chirping birds, he had woken up later than he expected. He brushed the thought aside; it didn't matter much at this point. He pulled over his gray robe and boots and buckled his belt. He went over to splash his face with some water when he saw the flap of his tent open. He caught a glimpse of the small figure as a small grin formed on his face.

"You can come in, Karla," he called out.

A girl of eleven years of age burst in and jumped onto his back, nearly causing him to faceplant into the basin of water.

"Good morning, brother!" said Karla cheerfully.

"Good morning to you too, Karla," said Karel. He tried to reach for the towel but with his sister's tight grip couldn't move his arms that well. "Just how long do you intend to remain attached to my back?"

His sister buried her head further into his robe. "I don't know. Maybe ask me after I take a nap."

Karel reached around and grabbed her arm, managing to pry her off of him before setting her down. "The nap will have to wait for later, I'm afraid."

"How was the job with Peta?" asked Karla. Whenever he returned from his jobs, Karla always asked him about it. She would ask about everything, the job itself, the places they went, the people they met, and even the food they ate. His mother always chided Karla for being nosy but Karel enjoyed indulging her curiosity. With the clan laws, Karla wasn't allowed to leave the clan like he was.

"Rather uneventful, frankly," admitted Karel as he dried his face with a cloth towel. "Our quarry didn't do a good job covering their tracks making it easy to find them. We had the job done within two days."

"Peta was bragging that it was like crushing bugs," said Karla.

Karel let out a sigh. "Peta is always disappointed when there isn't more of an opportunity for him to swing his sword. It's why he always will take bandit extermination jobs, even if the pay is low."

Karla nodded. "He and Chayton are always like that. Uncle says they have steel for brains sometimes," she added with small laugh.

Karel grinned. "I'm not that surprised. Those two tend to swing first, ask questions later."

Karla flopped backwards onto his straw mat. Her gray-black hair, the same color as his, lay strewn out around her head. "I wish I could go and see some of these places."

"Someday, you'll be able to," reassured Karel.

She sat back up. "You really think so?" Her tone carried a trace of doubt in it.

"Not even mother spent her whole life here," said Karel. "You'll get your chance. Just be patient." Karla nodded, seeming to accept that answer. "Come on, let's go."

Karla got up and started to follow her brother out the tent when he poked her lightly in the forehead. She looked up at him and gave a pout. He only smiled and continued out to the camp. As he stepped out into the camp, his grin faded back to a neutral expression.

"Oi, Karel!" greeted Peta as he wrapped an arm around Karel's collar. "'Bout time you woke up!"

"We were starting to worry that maybe you got overworked on the job," joked Chayton as he joined them. It was hard to believe that Peta and Chayton were in fact related by blood at times. Peta had inherited his mother's black hair and slender build while Chayton had inherited his father's gray hair and muscular body.

"I still bet that our little brother was just having a pleasant dream," commented Peta with a wink. Peta let out a laugh while Chayton just smiled.

"All jokes aside, Father wants to see you this evening," said Chayton. "He said it was time for your next training session with him."

Karel nodded. "All right."

"You certainly know how to put a damper on things," sighed Peta. "Good luck out there, little brother. Father Sky knows he's been stepping up the training of late."

"Father isn't going to live forever," said Chayton. "Given that Karel is almost a man, it will soon be time for him to determine who will succeed him as head of the clan." Chayton locked his gaze with Karel's for a moment. Of his two brothers, Chayton was the one most intent upon inheriting the clan title. Given Karel's skill with the blade, an unspoken rivalry had bloomed between the two of late.

"Implying any of us can defeat Father," remarked Karel. Peta chuckled while Chayton didn't say anything.

"Karel's right. Even you've got a lot of work before you can even think of challenging Father for the clan treasure," said Peta with a slap on Chayton's back. "We've probably kept you long enough."

"Where are you two going?" asked Karla.

"Know your place, Karla," reprimanded Chayton. "We may be siblings, but our laws exist for a reason. It is not a woman's place to pry into a man's business."

Karla nodded. "My apologies, brother."

"That's enough, Chayton." Karel placed himself between Karla and his brother.

"You coddle her too much," criticized Chayton. "She cannot remain a child forever and will soon enough have to learn there is a way a woman acts in this clan. You are only making it harder on her in the long run."

"Guys, let's take a step back here," said Peta as he held his arms up in surrender. "Chayton and I are off to see about a new job that Hanks supposedly has."

"We should go," Chayton all but spat.

"Yeah, I think you should," countered Karel. He continued to glare at Chayton until the two turned and left.

"I should get going as well," said Karla.

He nodded, giving her a small smile. "Off to help mother?"

"Nope! Some of the other girls and I are going to pick some herbs and greens for dinner. Mother's letting me go this time," explained Karla.

"Be careful. It can be easy to get lost in the plains."

Karla merely nodded and smiled. "Don't worry. I'll be fine brother."

He watched her run off to join the small group of girls with their straw-woven baskets. He couldn't help but remember when that group used to be much bigger. He resumed his trek past the tents until he saw his Uncle Raidal and his son Samal.

"Was wondering when you'd see fit to join us, Karel," joked his uncle. "Firewood isn't just going to find itself you know."

Karel cracked a half-smile. "Sorry Uncle."

"Ah, don't worry about it. This old man is just teasing. Samal only got here a few minutes ago anyway." His uncle elbowed Samal lightly in the gut.

"Guilty as charged, I guess," Samal offered with a nervous laugh.

The trio journeyed to the northeast, near the border of Ilia and Sacae. As the plains slowly turned into mountains, the tall grass was replaced by a much shorter variety and also by some of the sturdy pine trees famous throughout Ilia. There was not much need for wood beyond kindling and fueling the fire in the clan. Tents were built from animal skin and twine, supported only by a few beams to frame them. Many of the items, from baskets to hats, were woven from the thick and flexible straw grass commonly found across the plains of Sacae.

The three crested a hill and reached a small grove of tall pines that they often frequented. Samal handed Karel one of his baskets and they began the long process of looking for firewood.

"It's funny," said Raidal. "I've been coming here for over thirty years, and every time I come here, I find something new and exciting." He held up a pinecone at least twice as big as his hand to prove his point.

"Father, don't you think you have enough of those as is? If you bring any more back, you're hardly going to have space to sleep in your tent," said Samal.

"No worries son. I'll just start storing the extras in your tent!" His uncle let out a hearty laugh.

"I can only imagine the look on Kiri's face when we suddenly have a pile of pinecones sitting in the tent," said Samal with a sigh. "She'd have my ass faster than a wolf on a deer."

Karel grabbed a piece of wood that had fallen off the tree naturally. There was something he enjoyed about the pine grove. Perhaps it was simply because it was so unlike anything else he had seen in Sacae. The smell of the pine permeated the air and the feel of the needles beneath his boots stood in stark contrast to the grasses of the plains. When he was here, he felt like he was truly somewhere else.

Samal nearly tripped over a root but managed to catch himself at the last minute. Upon seeing Karel, he dismissed the incident with a laugh, his hand attempting to straighten out his disheveled gray hair. While he wasn't particularly close to Samal, Karel did enjoy his company. He was earnest and hard working. He may not have been a warrior, but his skill with medicines and herbs was second to none. Not even his father could deny the use of someone like that.

"You've been unusually quiet, Karel. Something eating at you?" asked his uncle as he joined him.

Karel looked up at his uncle and gave him a sincere smile. "It's nothing, really."

His uncle sighed. "Come now, Karel. This old timer has known you long enough to know when you're trying to hide something and when you actually mean it."

His smile disappeared back into the neutral stoic expression he usually bore. "It's nothing much. Chayton and I got into a little argument before I met up with you."

"Ah, Chayton. The one everyone expects to succeed Ryland. Well, almost everyone," he added with a wink. "This old goat has noticed that the two of you have been getting into arguments much more often of late."

"Probably because he sees me as a rival for succession," said Karel. "He tends to criticize a lot of what I do, such as how I treat Karla."

His uncle nodded knowingly. "Chayton is trying to distinguish himself from you. No doubt he is hoping to show to everyone, including your father, just how great of a man he has become, and that he is ready to assume the mantle of leadership."

"If he thinks he is better than father though, then he needs his head checked. His swordsmanship is still lacking," remarked Karel, a small smirk on his face.

"Yes, Ryland always was a remarkable swordsman, even now," remarked Raidal to no one in particular.

"It's his only redeeming quality," muttered Karel.

His uncle let out a sigh. "It looks like our job here is done. Why don't we head on back? By the time we get there, I'm sure Cheza and your Aunt Marel will have something wonderful ready for lunch."

Karel didn't say anything and only nodded. The two regrouped with Samal and began the trek from the forest to the plains.

-x-

Something felt off when they returned to camp. Karel could feel it even before he saw his cousin Reyn dashing towards them. He stopped before them hunched over, his chest heaving.

"Raidal…you have to…help them," gasped Reyn in between breaths.

Raidal placed his basket in Samal's care. He knelt beside Reyn. "Slow down, young Reyn. Just what has happened?"

"It was the Iorin clan!"

The hairs on the back of Karel's neck stood up at hearing the name.

"The Iorin clan? What happened?" pressed Raidal.

"They…" Reyn took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. "I was escorting Karla along with my sisters when suddenly we were jumped by a group of warriors from the Iorin clan. I knew right away from the tattoo on their arms."

"What happened to them?" demanded Karel. His voice may have been harsh but at the moment he didn't care. "What happened to Karla?"

"I…I don't know," Reyn almost whispered. "The girls scattered, trying to escape them. I tried to fight them but I was gravely outnumbered. I came back here hoping to find help but everyone was gone."

"So you ran back here with your tail tucked between your legs?" growled Karel. His eyes glowed with fury.

"I'm sorry!"

"How long has it been since you returned?" asked Raidal calmly.

"Only a few minutes. I-"

"Where were they?" interrupted Karel.

"T-to the north. It was in the valley where the herbs Samal uses grow," explained Reyn.

Karel turned to leave when he felt his uncle's firm grip on his shoulder. "Wait Karel, we must not act rashly. If we charge blindly in-"

"Let go, Uncle," ordered Karel. His uncle looked firmly into his eyes for a moment before finally loosening his grip. Without another word, Karel sprinted to the north at full speed.

"Was that wise, Father?" asked Samal.

"It wouldn't have mattered. If any of us had tried to stop him, Karel may very well have turned his blade against us," said Raidal as he let out a sigh. "I can promise you this much though; if Karla has been hurt in any way, I dread to think of what will happen to the Iorin."

-x-

Karla struggled against the hold of her captor. She felt him grip both her arms tightly before binding her hands with a rope. She tried to bite his hand before he backhanded her, sending her sprawling across the grass. Karla heard another of the girl's shriek, and couldn't suppress a shiver; she knew all too well what those men were doing to them. A part of her wanted to cry for being so powerless. She wasn't able to do anything while these men had their way with her friends. One man strode past her with a lecherous grin and towards her captor, now perched upon a rock with his sword over his lap.

"Sheesh, he's taking a while," he complained. "How long is Shrik going to take to deliver a challenge to those damn Daodins? If he doesn't hurry back, he's going to miss on all the fun."

"Quiet." Lee ordered as he patiently polished his steel sword in preparation the fight to come. "He'll get back when he gets back. And then we'll finally be able to get revenge on the bastards that killed my brother."

"So once we kill them, what happens to them?" asked the man as he gestured in the direction of the girl's screams. "Especially a runt like her," he said, pointing to Karla.

"We'll keep the ones we've had," replied Lee as he admired his sword in the sunlight. "As for her, she's too young to be of any benefit beyond perhaps selling her off to a slave trader."

"Seems like such a waste though," bemoaned the man with a laugh. The screams from the girls had stopped but Karla could still hear faint sobbing. Karla grit her teeth as she felt anger bubble up inside her. She wanted nothing more right now than to kill these men for what they did. If only she had power, strength, anything to stop this.

The two other men joined them, adjusting their belts as they retrieved their weapons. Lee glanced out to the field and saw a man walk in their direction.

"Feh, about time," muttered Lee. He got up from his rock. "Took you long enough Shrik. What was the hold up?"

"Sure is taking his time," muttered one of the men when they didn't get a response immediately.

"Shrik wasn't always the fastest horse if you know what I mean," snickered another.

Lee's eyes narrowed. "Shrik?"

Shrik approached the camp slowly. As he got closer, the Iorin were quickly aware that something wasn't right. He was sweating heavily and was shaking like a leaf.

"B-boss," whispered Shrik. "H-help m-"

A sword pierced him through the heart, instantly silencing Shrik. The other men drew their weapons. Lee took a defensive stance.

Shrik fell to the ground, revealing the figure that stood behind him.

"Karel!" called out Karla, relief washing over her.

Karel didn't respond and simply flicked the blood off his sword. Lee strode forward, a confident smile on his face.

"That was quick," he said with a smirk. "I hadn't expected Shrik to get to your camp and back so quickly."

"He didn't," said Karel. "I found him halfway. It was a convenient discovery."

Lee's smile vanished. "You've got guts coming here to take us all on by yourself. You missed the fun though. My boys just got done trying out the girls from your clan. We have to say, it isn't fair that you guys keep them all to yourselves." The other men snickered loudly at his comment.

"Is that how the Iorin clan works now?" asked Karel. The temperature seemed to drop almost ten degrees instantly. The other men didn't seem to notice, but Karla could see it. Her brother was furious. From the grip on his sword, it was all he could do to not leap forward and kill them on the spot.

"My brother and friends are dead because of you two!" roared Lee suddenly. He pointed his sword at Karel. "Only the blood of their killers will make amends. Pride demands that I not let his death go without judgment. You will die here and then we'll find that smart-mouthed companion of yours and kill him too!"

Karel chuckled and shook his head. "Peta killed your brother instantly and you think you can kill me? You're welcome to try."

A vein bulged in Lee's forehead. "You've got some nerve."

"I was going to tell you to leave if you don't want to die, but," said Karel with a glare, "I changed my mind. Animals like you only deserve to be slaughtered."

Lee motioned to two of him men. They nodded and strode up beside him. "I think the thing I'm going to enjoy the most is shutting up that arrogant little mouth of yours. Die!"

The trio charged. Suddenly Karel leapt forward. He was fast, faster than they had even thought possible. Karel's sword pierced through the first man's chest before he smoothly spun around to slash Lee's other companion through the throat. The third man attempted to sneak up on Karel but the prodigy swordsman lazily slid to the side before ending the attacker's life with a slash to the jugular.

Lee stood frozen to the spot, the blood of his allies surrounding him. He looked into Karel's eyes and froze. There was no sympathy in those eyes, no warmth. The only thing he could see was his body laid for dead like those around him.

"Just what the hell are you?" demanded Lee, his breath shaky. The sword was quivering in his grip.

Karel didn't respond. Lee snapped and lunged. Karel deflected the sword like it was a piece of parchment, causing Lee to nearly trip over himself. He spun around to slash only to feel Karel's grip envelop his wrist. He blinked and then saw the sword come down. The grass of the plains welcomed Lee just as it had his companions.

Karel let out a sigh before flicking the blood off his sword and returning it to his sheath. "Are you all right?" he asked in a much softer tone as he untied Karla.

"I knew you'd come brother," said Karla with a sincere smile. She could feel tears starting to stream down her face from relief. "The other girls though…"

"Don't say anymore," Karel interrupted. "I already know."

"Karel!" He glanced up and saw Reyn along with Samal running towards them. As the two got closer, Reyn and Samal stopped, their eyes wide with shock.

"Father Sky, this is awful," murmured Samal.

"Morg! Alli!" Reyn dashed over to his sisters to help them. His hands were shaking and tears were forming in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He kept muttering it over and over again.

"Save your tears, Reyn," said Samal as he placed a hand on his shoulder. "Right now we need to get them back to the camp. They will be fine, at least physically. I'll be able to prepare the draught necessary to rid their bodies of the impurity."

Reyn gripped Samal's hand tightly. "Thank you! Thank you!"

"Can you really do that?" asked Karel as he helped Karla stand.

Samal nodded. "It isn't pleasant and the draught can have plenty of lingering after effects, but when you consider the alternative…"

"Banishment for the mother, death for the child," muttered Karel.

"Precisely. At least this way, they are assured that no matter what, they will have a home," said Samal. "Why don't you take Karla back? Reyn and I will take care of things here." Karel nodded and motioned for Karla to follow him. Karel quickly noticed that she was dragging behind him.

"Are you okay?"

Karla nodded. "I'm fine. I think I might have twisted my ankle though."

Karel leaned down in front of her. "Climb on."

Karla did as she was told. The sun was starting to set to the west, causing the plains to assume their red guise. He could feel Karla rest her head next to his.

"You were strong, Karla," said Karel. "You didn't cry once during that entire time, did you?"

"No," muttered Karla. "I hated it. I wanted to do something, anything, but I couldn't. I've never felt so helpless in my life."

"I'm sorry," he said with a soft voice. The two continued the journey slowly, neither speaking for several minutes.

"Your back is warm," said Karla before she let out a sigh. She wasn't shivering anymore. "It's one of the only things that hasn't changed."

"You do know there will come a day when I can't carry you on my back anymore," replied Karel.

"Yeah, you're right," said Karla softly. "These fields are so nostalgic. I miss the days when we used to play out in the fields. You, me, Peta, Chayton, and even Kain."

Karel stopped for a minute. "You remember Kain?"

"A bit," said Karla. "I remember feelings more than actual memories. Smiles, warmth, comfort. I remember that you used to always be around him, brother."

"Ah."

"We used to all have fun, even Father and Mother." Karel could feel something wet soaking into his shoulder. He was surprised to see she was crying. "I wish I could see them smile again. I wish things hadn't changed."

Karel kept walking. "So do I," he whispered.

-x-

Dusk was nearing its end as the moon started to assume the sun's place in the sky. Karel stepped back, panting heavily and his body covered in sweat despite the cool evening air. His father took a step back as well but didn't seem to show any signs of tiring. The two had been training for almost an hour straight. He had barely had time to put something in his stomach before he hurried to the training grounds.

"Good. Your progress is commendable," admitted his father, breaking the silence. It was rare that his father ever complimented him on anything, particularly his swordsmanship. Knowing his father though, that usually only meant that there was something else the man had in mind.

"Yes, I would say that it is time to begin your initiation," said his father, as though still debating the idea.

"Initiation?"

His father smiled. A shiver ran up Karel's spine whenever he saw his father smile like that. "The secret technique passed down by generations of our clan. It is the technique upon which our clan was founded."

Anticipation welled up inside him. Raidal often shared tales of the clan's famed victories and the nearly legendary swordsmanship they wielded. Regardless of his feelings towards his father, even Karel could not suppress the excitement he felt.

His father drew the Wo Dao from its sheath and pointed it at Karel, one arm fully extended. "Don't move," he ordered. "If you move even an inch from where you stand now, you will die."

He steadied his breath and did as his father instructed. His eyes focused upon the blade before him. His father took in a slow breath and let the air out. Then he moved.

There was a rush of wind all around Karel and within a second he felt the point of the Wo Dao pressing ever so lightly right against his chest. He had observed every move his father made, but the sheer speed of the attack was unlike anything he had ever seen. Had his father struck for real, he would be dead five times over. He didn't avert his gaze but he could tell from that he had been cut lightly, once in each shoulder and then once on each of his hips.

"You may recall," began his father as he stepped back, "that in all schools of swordsmanship that there are nine points of fatal attack. They include the head, the two slantwise down strikes that target the shoulders, the two horizontal strikes at the midsection, the two slantwise upward strikes, the direct upward strike, and finally the chest."

His father casually rested the Wo Dao on his shoulder and smirked. "No matter what school, be it Sacae, Lycia, Bern, or Etruria, these nine strikes remain common. As a consequence, all defensive stances were created to correspond to those nine points. If however," his father added, his smirk growing wider, "you can attack multiple points at the same time, then defense will become completely useless. This is the Daodin Clan's greatest technique, symbolized by the crest of the five falling stars: Astra."

"Astra…" Karel repeated. His father was right. Even if he had reacted to the first strike, he would have been completely defenseless against the remaining four. Even if he pushed his speed to the limit, he still would not be able to defend against all five strikes with traditional methods. This was the secret.

"I am a bit ashamed to admit that what I showed you is only a shadow of Astra's potential. For the sake of teaching you though, this should more than suffice."

"For the sake of teaching me?" repeated Karel. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb," chided his father. "Astra cannot be passed on to just any clansman. Only those who have exhibited true potential are worthy of learning this."

Karel could feel a flutter of pride in his chest. To know that he had come this far in only four years was encouraging news. He thought about it for a second before asking a question. "What about Peta or Chayton?"

His father chuckled. It was like getting splashed in the face with ice-cold water. "What about them? Neither of them is worthy of even laying eyes on the Astra technique. Furthermore, neither would be able to even perform it, even if they were given until the end of time. You should feel honored. It is a sign that you have overcome your weaknesses. All of your training for the past four years was for this moment."

"Is that right?" spoke Karel softly. His grip on his sword tightened. "In the end, it's no different is it?"

"What?" asked his father, his eyes narrowed.

"Is this any different than when you cast me into the arena against the lions? Or when you left me miles from the camp with only a sword, telling me that if I died, then it meant I was too weak? How is this any different than when you threatened to kill Karla if I didn't kill that man four years ago?" Karel could feel his anger building, like a white-hot flame spreading throughout his body. "Everything has been for the sword, to grind out my weakness when I know that's a lie! You're the one that couldn't overcome your weakness and I'm sick of you trying to bury it by hiding behind me!"

His father's usual stoicism rapidly faded to fury. "You've got some nerve, considering you wouldn't even be standing here if it weren't for me."

"Yeah, well you being there certainly didn't help Aunt Moria, Uncle Lorn, or any our fellow clansmen," said Karel, his voice building in intensity. "And it certainly didn't help Kain!"

"That is enough!" barked his father. His face was contorted by rage. Karel knew that he was crossing the line but he didn't care any longer. All of his bottled up feelings were so close that he felt like he was about to burst.

"These past four years have just been some pathetic way of dealing with your guilt. You don't care about anyone in this clan. The only thing you care about is that sword! You never even tried to avenge them!" accused Karel. "The man that slaughtered half our clan just walked out and you never even tried to find him!"

His father strode forward and dealt Karel a sharp blow to the stomach. He could feel the wind forced out of him as he crumpled to the ground. He looked up and saw his father glaring at him with complete hatred. Finally his father turned and left the hill, leaving Karel behind as well.

The words his father spoke were not surprising; Karel had speculated that such a conclusion was likely almost a year ago. He had never complained though. He needed the instruction and power his father could provide and so even when he wanted nothing more than to punch his father, he hid it and held it all back. To finally hear his father admit it though, just seemed to push him over the edge.

He tried to move, but between his exhaustion from the day and the punch his father dealt him, he could hardly move much less stand. He could feel his eyes grow heavy under the night sky as the memories played once again in his mind.

It had all started with a scream. It was his Aunt Moria, Raidal's wife, screaming when she saw Uncle Lorn stabbed through the heart by that man. She died shortly thereafter. He remembered people running all around him. The men had gone to retrieve their swords while the women were ushering the children into tents. He had felt a firm but reassuring grip around his wrist. It had been his brother Kain. Smoke began to rise from the fire that had started at the center of the camp.

He remembered Kain pulling him into a tent and the two hid there along with a small group of women and children. Kain kept his sword at his side. The tent flap opened and in stepped the man who continued to haunt his dreams. He had a blue robe that seemed to shimmer in the light of the fire. What he remembered most was the impassive, cold expression the man bore. Kain clashed with him but it was over in a heartbeat. One minute Kain stood there, the next the blue robed man was behind him, sliding his sword back into its sheath. Suddenly a massive gash tore through Kain's chest. He may have been dead before he even hit the ground.

The smoke had become much stronger. His vision became foggy as he passed out. When he came to, he realized his nightmare was reality

"Karel? Are you out here?" called a familiar voice, shaking him out of his stupor. He immediately recognized it as Uncle Raidal's voice. He tried to prop himself up but could feel his arm give way almost immediately.

"Over here, Uncle," he called out as loudly as he could.

His uncle spotted him and hurried over when he saw Karel on the ground. His uncle turned him over and gave him a quick check before letting out a sigh of relief.

"Thank Father Sky," he muttered. "Are you all right?"

"I've been better," whispered Karel, earning a smile from his uncle. Karel returned the gesture. "What are you doing out here?"

"Ryland came back to camp absolutely livid. When I asked about you, he nearly drew the Wo Dao on me. I figured since you hadn't come back that I'd better check on you," explained his uncle as he helped Karel to his feet. Karel was still too weak to stand on his own, so his uncle continued to prop him up.

"Thanks," said Karel.

"Can I ask what happened?" asked his uncle as the two began the trip back to camp.

"I called father weak," spoke Karel after a moment. "I blamed him for Kain's death along with the others."

He looked up and saw his uncle was not mad or sad. His face seemed pensive, yet accepting. "Ah, I see." He cracked a half-smile. "That would explain it."

Karel just nodded. As they reached the base of the hill, Karel found that enough of his strength had returned that he could walk on his own.

"That night," said his uncle suddenly, "has caused me many times to wonder if it was my fault."

Karel regarded his uncle with a questioning look. "What do you mean?"

"Originally I was the one to inherit the clan leadership," admitted his uncle. "I did not want it though; I wished to explore the world and live life freely, not chained to some clan. I pushed my brother into the position. Ryland was earnest and skilled with a sword, but he was also emotional and young. He wasn't ready for the burden of leadership."

Karel didn't say anything, which his uncle took as an indication to continue. "He couldn't make the hard decisions. Ryland had yet to be able to divorce his emotions from his decision-making. I knew this but pushed him into it anyway." He stopped and let out a sigh. "When your father met the blue-robed swordsman, the two became fast friends. That was why it hit him especially hard when the man betrayed him."

He had never heard his uncle talk about these matters. His uncle tended to always seem so carefree. To now here these deep-rooted regrets was surprising, even if Karel's face didn't necessarily show it.

"Your father couldn't bring himself to kill a friend. And in turn, Ryland lost almost everything." His uncle cast a glance towards the starry night sky. "Deep down, I think your father wishes he had died that night, just so he could be spared the shame he faces every day he steps out of the tent. The blue robed man took so much from him, even inflicting a wound to his left arm that has forever impaired him as a swordsman."

His uncle stopped talking and the two continued the slow walk back to the camp. "He's become an empty vessel," said Karel.

"An empty vessel…you may not be too far off," remarked his uncle.

"Uncle," said Karel as he cast a glance in the man's direction, "why are you sharing all of this with me?"

His uncle had a melancholy smile. "I'm not too sure myself. Maybe it's just this old goat feeling guilty and needing to finally share it with someone."

"What about Father Sky and Mother Earth?" asked Karel.

"There are some things, that not even the gods can remedy," admitted his uncle. "Communing with spirits tends to be a very one-sided conversation I've found."

Karel stopped for a moment and looked up to the stars, the same ones he had seen that night. _Nothing has changed. The stars are still the same as then, _he thought bitterly. He looked back at the camp before him. This place he realized was more like a graveyard than a home. Nobody seemed able to move on; all they could do was continue to replay the events of the past time and again.

"Thank you for listening to this old man's rambling," said his uncle. "Use the information I have shared as you see fit. I understand that there are some scars that run too deep even for time to mend."

Karel only nodded before returning to his tent. He placed his sword beside him and lay down on the mat.

Even though it was the same one he had slept on for years now, it just didn't feel right. None of it did. It was like the atmosphere had changed. Now that he had confronted his father and heard his uncle's story, it was as though he could see something that could no longer be unseen. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the night sky. He knew that this couldn't continue. He couldn't continue to live like this.

He could feel his eyelids grow heavy as he finally drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

_A/N: This chapter ended up being darker (particularly with the bandits) than I had initially expected when I sat down to write this. Ryland's point made regarding the nine points of attack is an actual teaching of kenjutsu. Thank you to everyone who read this and if you have any comments or critique, feel free to leave a review._


	4. Decision

_A/N: This is a rather long chapter. I apologize in advance._

Chapter 3: Decision

Karel awoke early in the morning. He stepped out into the camp, the sun still hidden behind the mountains to the east. His gaze lingered briefly over his father's tent before he turned and made his way back to the training grounds. It had been a week since his confrontation with his father. His stomach muscles no longer ached from the punch his father had dealt him.

He reached to top of the hill and paused as a breeze ruffled his hair. As he had done so many times before, he strode to his place across from a wooden dummy and drew his sword. He slowly exhaled as he held the sword in front of him. He closed his eyes as he envisioned the strike in its entirety.

His eyes snapped open.

He leapt forward. A moment later he stood behind the wooden doll. As he inspected the doll, he mentally reprimanded himself. Only two of the five strikes had actually connected. There were slight nicks for the remaining three, but had it been a real person, the strikes would not have been fatal. Judging by one of them, it wouldn't have even been serious. He strode back to his starting position, his determination renewed.

He had become so engrossed in his training that he had lost all track of time. When he leapt forward but stopped because the sun blinded him, only then did he realize just how long he had been practicing. He turned his gaze back to the camp and could see the fire pit had been started. He was breathing heavily and despite the cool morning air, his body was slick with sweat.

He took another look at the wooden doll. Three of the five strikes could now be considered acceptable. It was progress but it was still not good enough. All five had to be in place. He would not be satisfied until he had attained that goal.

As he walked back to camp, he could already imagine the smirk on his father's face. After that night, his father would only use Karel's training as proof that his words were indeed true. Despite Karel's protests and complaints, his father would make the point that Karel still remained dedicated to the sword above all else. His father never understood him.

For Karel, his swordsmanship was one thing that was distinctly, inherently his and only his. There was a certain amount of pride he took in the skill he had carefully crafted over the many years of training. There was more to it than that though; it was his one chance to escape from everything. When he trained, there was nothing but he and the sword. There was no blue warrior, no death, and no father. It was a world thrown into perfect night and day, free of all earthly problems.

He passed through the camp unnoticed and slipped into his tent before anyone by chance did see him. He removed his sweaty clothes and splashed his face with water from the basin. He was tired of the burden he felt strapped to his shoulders. When it came down to it, he didn't care about the clan, its laws, or any of the traditions that his father had attempted to ingrain into him. There were two things he cared about: his swordsmanship and Karla. There was many a time where he had fantasized about leaving the clan, running away with the Wo Dao and his sister and exploring the world. Every time though, he was reminded that they were just that, fantasies.

Why hadn't he acted? The thought made him stop as he dried his face. It was a question he didn't have an answer for he realized. It begged the question; just what was holding him back? Was it his father? He instinctively wanted to say no, but he knew that wasn't quite true. Karel had needed his father's instruction and guidance. There was no one else who could give him what he needed. Now though, with Karel's initiation into the secret, did that mean he was freed from that shackle?

Was it his uncle? That one immediately seemed illogical. From his uncle's story last night, if anything, his uncle would be the one to encourage Karel to journey and leave. He slipped on a fresh robe, adjusting his belt before giving his reflection one last look in the basin.

Was it Karla?

He pulled back the tent flap. He cared deeply for Karla. Of the clan members, Karla was the youngest and the only one to be spared the memories of the massacre. He had wanted to protect her from that pain, the pain that seemed to poison this clan like a disease. She was getting older though. It would not be long before she would be of the age for her parents to start finding her a husband. What point was there to him staying now? Was it just sentimentality stopping him from leaving?

He shook his head and dismissed the thoughts. No clear answer was there and he saw no reason to continue banging his head against a post in hopes of uncovering one. He stepped into the camp.

He was surprised to see two of the horses out and being cleaned and saddled. His uncle finished tightening the saddle on one of the horses before giving Karel a cheerful wave.

"Good morning, Karel," greeted his uncle. "Care to give an old man a hand? Lenne here seems to be in a fickle mood today."

"What's the occasion for the trip?" asked Karel as he grabbed the reins from his uncle's hands. The horse tried to pull free but he held fast. "I wasn't aware of any plans to travel."

"The medicine and foods used to help the girls attacked by Iorin has taken a bit more out of our cellars than we expected," explained his uncle as he tightened the saddle. "So, we've got no choice but to go into town and purchase the goods we need."

"If that's the case, why not simply head to Dugral?"

His uncle gave the saddle a tug to make sure it was in place and then gave it a satisfied slap. "Because we don't have enough money. This old timer scrounged through all his savings and it's still not quite enough for what we need." When Karel still looked at him confused, his uncle chuckled. "Do you remember Sassair?" Karel nodded, although his memories were anything but pleasant of the place. "Sassair is one of the few cities in Sacae large enough to host an arena. We're going to wager our gold for a few matches and use the winnings to cover the cost."

"We?" repeated Karel with a raised eyebrow. His uncle held up his arms in surrender.

"Okay, to be fair, it's more you than me." He gave Karel a playful nudge in the side. "Ryland specifically said for you to come with me. He and your brothers are cleaning up some bandits not too far south of here."

"I'm surprised he isn't going is all," said Karel.

His uncle shrugged. "He was surprisingly insistent upon it. Probably just that confident in your abilities." Karel resisted the urge to snort. His uncle put his hand to his chin to stroke his beard. "After last week's incident, I'm sure he wants to stay close just in case. Even with Samal's skills, the girls are still recovering, leaving us a bit shorthanded at the moment."

"Isn't that heartwarming of father," muttered Karel to no one in particular. The horse's tail whipped him in the face, much to his chagrin.

His uncle chuckled. "It seems Lenne doesn't approve of your comment."

Karel fixed a tense gaze upon the horse. "I'd like to think of a time when a horse has approved of me."

Lenne whinnied and his uncle laughed in earnest. He stroked the muzzle, placating the horse almost instantly. Karel could only stare in disbelief. He had no aversion to animals but horses and he just never seemed to get along well at all.

"You need to remember the teachings. The horse is the partner of all Sacaens, the faithful friend given to us by Mother Earth. Treat the horse as you would a family member, not just some beast to ride upon," said his uncle in a soft voice.

Karel sighed. "Maybe if Mother Earth didn't make the things so temperamental I'd get along with them better."

"Perhaps Lenne just doesn't like you," teased his uncle.

Karel looked back at the horse with a deadpan expression. "The feeling's mutual."

His uncle laughed and climbed aboard his horse. Karel let out a sigh and climbed onto Lenne's back. Nothing happened initially. Perhaps the horse really wasn't going to go crazy this time. His uncle took off and Karel gave the horse a gentle kick. Suddenly Lenne burst off in a full speed gallop. Karel nearly fell out of his seat as he desperately held onto the reins. He cursed, prompting what he could only interpret as a snide whinny from Lenne. He let out an exasperated sigh as he sat up right. He knew in that moment that he didn't dislike horses; he hated them.

-x-

As the two guided their horses down the cobbled streets of Sassair, Karel felt surprisingly calm. Sassair was about as contrasting with the Daodin camp as night was with day. Large stone walls encircled the city. Numerous foreigners from all corners of Elibe it seemed were out hawking their wares or exchanging idle conversation on the side of the road. The very air was so unlike the plains; the smell of the grass and wildflowers was replaced by the smell of roasting meats, pipeweed, and smoke.

"You look comfortable, Karel," remarked Raidal as he brought his horse back.

"Do I? I hadn't noticed," replied Karel. "This place seems much more packed compared to my last visit."

His uncle nodded. "It depends on the time of year. Around this time, the Ilian winters are particularly harsh and mercenary jobs can be difficult to find. It's not uncommon to see a number of pegasus knights or other mercenaries come to Sacae to wait out the winter."

"And here I always thought Dugral was relatively large." Karel's eyes went back and forth. There were many taverns and inns along the roads, some big enough to hold two of the Prancing Deer.

"Dugral is more of an outpost than an actual city," explained his uncle. "This old timer would debate whether you could even call it a town."

Karel nodded. "So where is this arena and what exactly is it?"

His uncle pointed directly ahead of them. The building was huge, standing in stark contrast to the taverns and inns surrounding it. The wood frames seemed weak, feeble even compared to the thick and sturdy stone pillars that supported the mighty building. It towered over the other buildings, only serving to make it stand out more.

"Look familiar?" asked his uncle knowingly.

Karel shrugged. "Just a little."

His last time here had been four years ago, around when he had just turned eleven. His father had taken him alone. At the time, he had still been young and naïve enough to think that his father was just doting upon his youngest son. How wrong he had been. He barely even remembered much of Sassair with how quickly he had been rushed though the streets and into the arena. He hadn't even understood what was going on until a man placed an iron sword in his hands and wished him luck, saying he'd need it if he didn't want to get eaten alive. And then the gates opened to let in the lion.

Karel's hand absentmindedly went to his left forearm, where he still had the claw marks from that encounter. Shaking the memories from his head, he followed his uncle as the two left the horses in a nearby stable. As the two got closer to the arena, the building proved to be even larger than Karel had first thought it to be. The roar of the cheers was almost deafening and they weren't even at the front gate yet. Karel suddenly felt someone bump into his shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

"Oi, watch where you're going!" barked the man. He had a muscular build and a number of scars along his body. From the smell, the man hadn't bathed in quite a few days.

Karel regarded the man for a moment before getting back up adjusting his robe. The man sauntered off with his friends, a smirk on his face.

"You all right there, mate?" came a new voice. Karel turned to see a young man dressed in a long green tunic atop a chestnut horse. A headband held back his gray-green hair from clouding his eyes.

"Fine," replied Karel curtly.

The man grinned. "Glad to hear it. Don't be too bitter at those guys. There's a lot of 'em around here and the sooner you learn to roll with it, the better. From the looks of things, I'd wager they just had a pretty nice victory at the arena and don't care for those who get in the way of their festivities."

"I'll keep the advice in mind-"

"Ko," filled in the youth. "Are you off to participate in a challenge?"

Karel saw no reason to beat around the bush. "Yes."

"Good luck to you then. I'll be rooting for you. If you come out of it in good shape, I'll buy you a drink later," said Ko as he offered his hand. "What's your name?"

Karel gripped the hand firmly. "The name's Karel."

Ko gave them a quick wave before he and his horse disappeared into the crowd of people along the streets.

"That boy was a nomad," mused his uncle. "Been a while since I've seen one this far east in Sacae."

"Something wrong, uncle?"

His uncle shook his head. "No, just some old man's ramblings. Let's get you registered so we can be on our way."

The registrar was a large, bald man with arms thick as logs. As soon as Karel stepped up to the counter, the man eyed him up and let out a snort. "Who's competing, the scrawny one or the old codger?"

"I am," asserted Karel.

"All right. How much are you planning to wager?"

Raidal stepped up to the table. "We have a total of seven hundred gold, so perhaps about three hundred fifty to start off?"

"Do I look like a charity, old man? No one in their right mind would take a wager that low."

"We wager all seven hundred," said Karel calmly. His uncle nearly dropped the bag while the man behind the counter laughed.

"I like this kid! Seeing as he's the competitor, I think I'm inclined to take him up on his offer," said the registrar. "Seven hundred gold it is. Your match will be the next one after this fight. Do your best not to die out there."

Karel set the money on the counter and walked off to the entrance. He felt his uncle give a sharp tug on his sleeve. "What was that all about?"

"Wagering all the money at once?" replied Karel calmly.

"Yes, that!"

Karel shrugged. "If we're here to earn money, I'd rather do it as quickly as possible than draw out the whole affair. Besides, the man wasn't going to take your proposed wager either."

His uncle shook his head. "You don't understand. A higher wager means tougher opponents."

Karel looked his uncle in the eye. "Do you think I'm going to lose?"

"Look Karel, you're good, but overconfidence in the arena will cost you more than the gold."

"And our work as mercenaries thus far has been any different?" countered Karel. "Please. Most of these men are cubs in a lion's den. Unless they've actually fought a lion and survived, I doubt there's much to fear."

Karel turned and strode into the entrance, leaving a frustrated uncle to mull over his nephew's words.

-x-

"Where have you been Ko?" asked a young woman in her late teens. Ko gave her a sheepish smile before taking a seat next to her. Down below, the fight in the arena continued. A sword-wielding mercenary dodged to the side of an armored knight but just couldn't seem to crack the tough opponent's iron defense.

"Oh, just taking care of some business around town. Had to find a stables that wasn't filled to leave Mara," explained Ko. "Has he fought yet?"

"Not yet. He's bound to be in one of the upcoming matches. Drake is watching the entryway just in case." Ko chuckled, confusing the woman. "What's so amusing?"

"You need to lighten up, Farah," remarked Ko. "The boss isn't here after all. We'll catch him, don't you worry."

Farah frowned and shook her head. "It's that lax attitude of yours that is precisely why I worry."

The crowd erupted in cheers as the fight came to a close. The knight went in for a lunge only for the mercenary to dodge to the side. The lance planted itself in the wall, giving the mercenary the opening he needed to finish his foe. The mercenary left as the crowd chanted for the next match to begin. The gates opened to allow the next two contestants onto the field. Farah leaned forward in her seat.

"It's him. Tell Drake that we've found our mark," ordered Farah.

Ko nodded and was about to leave when he saw who the challenger was. "Damn, really? That's just a case of bad luck now."

"What do you mean?"

"His challenger is a Sacaen I bumped into on my way here. His name's Karel if I remember right. But he has no idea who he is going up against. Talk about bad luck," bemoaned Ko.

"Then tell him to forfeit," stated Farah bluntly.

"I don't think it's going to be that simple," admitted Ko. "Sacaens don't exactly run from fights."

"Then I'll make sure to say a prayer to St. Elimine for him," said Farah. Ko sighed and turned his attention back to the match that was about to start. This wasn't going to last long; that much was for certain.

-x-

Karel stood across from his opponent, his fingers feeling the grip of the iron sword he had been handed prior to the match. Judging from the crowd's cheers as his opponent entered the stage, his opponent had already made something of an entrance earlier. He was almost nonchalant in the way he waved to crowd. The amateur swordsman would probably try to attack right away, but Karel could see that his nonchalance was a ruse. His right hand never strayed far from his sword.

_Tougher opponents, eh? I haven't had a challenge in a while. This might be fun_, thought Karel with a bit of a smirk.

"Hey kid," spoke the challenger. "Do you know who I am?"

Karel's grip on the sword tightened ever so slightly. "No. Should I care?"

The challenger laughed as he flicked some of his blue hair out of his face. "You're a riot, kid. The name's Jagger. Now listen up 'cause I'm going to make you an offer here. I'm not exactly in to killing shrimps like yourself so I'll give you one chance to throw the match and walk out of here with your life guaranteed in one piece."

Karel smirked and drew his blade. "I'll pass."

"Tch, don't say I didn't warn you," said Jagger. Suddenly Jagger leapt into the air and drew his sword before coming down upon Karel. He sidestepped the attack before deflecting the next strike with his blade. Jagger clearly hadn't expected Karel to be quite so nimble and redoubled his offensive efforts, trying to beat Karel down with a flurry of strikes.

Karel calmly deflected each strike as it came. Jagger thrust his sword before sliding into a slash to catch Karel. Karel blocked the strike with his sword, locking the two. It was clear that Jagger wasn't just full of hot air; he was quite good. Still, Karel was better.

Karel continued to deflect the strikes until finally Jagger attempted another thrust. Karel countered with his own sword in a flash, stopping the strike and causing Jagger to stagger. Karel closed in and slammed the hilt of his sword into Jagger's gut before finishing with a sharp uppercut to the chin. Jagger went flying a good few feet back before managing to pick himself up again.

From his expression, Karel could only surmise Jagger hadn't been expecting an opponent like him. The crowd all around had gone silent at the sudden and surprising turn of events. The momentum of the fight had shifted in a heartbeat and Karel intended to put an end to now.

He held his sword to the side, and steadied his breath. Jagger took a defensive stance, now much more wary of Karel and his abilities. Neither moved for a moment, until Jagger raised his sword above his head and charged. Karel moved in a flash. One moment he was in front of Jagger, the next he was behind him. Jagger stopped, his sword still overhead before a large slash ripped through his chest, causing him to collapse in an ever-growing pool of his blood.

Karel flicked the blood from his blade before starting for the gate. The crowd burst into applause as he disappeared back into the darkness.

-x-

Farah and Ko both sat there with looks of complete shock upon their faces. Farah couldn't believe what she had just seen. This boy from the plains had just shown up out of nowhere and not only did he defeat Jagger, a high priority target, but defeated him without sustaining any injury himself.

"Just who is that kid?" she wondered aloud.

"What I'm more concerned about is what do we do now? We can't exactly bring in a corpse for this job," said Ko with a sigh. He let out a low whistle. "Man though, where did that guy learn to fight like that?"

Farah stood up and brushed the dust off of her pants. "There's not much we can do about it at this point. Let's get Drake and regroup at the tavern. We'll figure out what to do from there."

Ko nodded. Standing with his back against a pillar near the entrance was a hulking bear of a man. His body rippled with muscles, particularly evident by his lack of body armor beyond the pauldrons adorning his shoulders and the greaves he wore on his shins. His body was covered in scars from head to toe, cutting a rather intimidating figure as a consequence.

"What 'appened? We lose our man?" he asked gruffly as he scratched his gray-white stubble.

"Well, things didn't exactly go as we had hoped they would," Ko replied with a shrug. "Sorry to make you wait, Drake."

"Jagger is dead," Farah stated.

"And here I thought we weren't goin' ta have ta worry about that." Drake shook his head. "Who offed the bloke?"

"A young Sacaen. He looked like he couldn't be older than fifteen or sixteen," explained Farah.

"Kid could fight better than a lot of grown men I've seen," added Ko.

Drake grinned. "I know that look. What's got inta yer head boy?"

Ko returned the gesture. "I'm not saying anything, just making a comment."

Farah brought her hand to her chin in thought. "We still have a few days until we need to return to Bulgar. I'll see if I can find any offerings so that we at least don't leave here empty-handed."

"What should we do in the meantime?" asked Ko.

"You have the evening free. Just don't get into too much trouble."

"Heh, might as well see what the cards are offerin' tonight if that's the case," remarked Drake.

"And I've got a date to keep," added Ko.

"Chasin' after another woman?" asked Drake with a grin.

Ko chuckled. "Far from it actually. I promised to buy a drink for that guy who took out Jagger. Figure might as well see what his story is while we're here."

"You just want to see if you should bet on him for future matches," said Farah bluntly.

Ko looked offended. "I can't believe you would even insist upon such a thing, but you do make a good point deputy commander."

Farah shook her head. "We'll meet up later tonight to go over the plans. See you then."

-x-

Raidal sat at the table, a broad smile on his face as he jingled the pouch back and forth. Karel sipped on the ale, trying to adjust to the taste but failing miserably. He couldn't understand how men could down pints of this stuff when it tasted so bitter. Finally he set the mug down and pushed it aside.

"Giving up?"

"It's not worth wasting time on something that tastes like that," replied Karel. "You seem to be in much better spirits than earlier. Were you that worried I'd lose out there?"

"Hardly. I had complete faith in you," replied his uncle with a toothy smile. "Although I will admit, I was a bit worried when I saw the bets were five to one against you. I suppose that made the victory all the sweeter though!"

Karel couldn't hold back a half-smile of his own. With the wagers so against him, Karel didn't even need to fight another round after defeating Jagger. They had already purchased the needed supplies and they still had plenty of gold leftover. His uncle had insisted that while they were here, they might as well enjoy the benefits only a city could offer.

"Here I was expecting you to be soaking up your victory in one of the big bars," came a familiar voice. Ko gave Karel a friendly pat on the shoulder before taking a seat at their table. "Certainly didn't expect you to pick a small time place like this."

"I didn't pick it," replied Karel as his eyes shifted in his uncle's direction. Ko laughed before he snapped his fingers.

"Barkeep, a round of drinks for the table on me!"

"That really isn't necessary," said Karel.

"Nonsense! I promised I'd buy you a drink if you won and I am a man of my word," replied Ko enthusiastically.

Raidal finished his third pint of ale and clearly was starting to feel the effects as he swayed back and forth in his chair. His gaze went over to a group of Ilian pegasus knights and a grin came over his face. "You two enjoy your drinks. I'm going to go and see what those ladies are up to."

Karel looked over at the girls and back to his uncle. "Do what you will, but I'm not cleaning up your mess."

His uncle let out a loud laugh. "If you're that concerned, you could always lend me a hand. I could use a backup just in case things go south."

Karel glanced over at the table. One of the Ilian's noticed him and gave him a charming smile, even motioning for him to join her. He turned away, fixating his gaze upon the filled mug before him. His reaction prompted a laugh from their direction. "I'll…pass."

"Haha, it seems someone is a little shy around the ladies!" teased Ko as he lightly elbowed Karel. "A shame too, cause they seem to be interested in you."

"You wouldn't believe how much of an issue it's been for his father to try and get someone who will agree to marry him," said Raidal to Ko. "The lad can wield a sword better than people twice his age yet he can't even talk to a woman properly. The girls think he's strange or scary even, and then the clan leaders flat out refuse the deal. Then again, my brother doesn't exactly have the best people skills when it comes to these matters."

Ko laughed along with his uncle, causing Karel's eyebrow to twitch in irritation. "Maybe you should take your uncle up on the offer, Karel. It might be a good chance for some life experience."

"I'm fine," said Karel flatly and deliberately. "Do what you will, uncle."

His uncle gave Karel a shrug before he left the table, nearly stumbling on his way over to the girls' table.

Ko was grinning ear to ear. "He's certainly an energetic one, isn't he?"

"It's the first time I've seen him like this. Now I'm beginning to understand why we keep alcohol away from the clan," remarked Karel, earning a laugh from Ko.

"So what exactly brings you out to Sassair? Is this your first time to the city?"

Karel leaned back in his chair. "Second time actually. Our clan is short supplies and we needed to make some purchases. We were also a bit short on funds and this was the only place close enough for us to make the money."

"And earn it you did. I saw your match and I was pretty impressed. Not too many people your age I've seen that can fight like that."

"I wouldn't know," said Karel dismissively.

"Oh?"

"Living in a clan like mine tends to isolate oneself from the rest of the world," stated Karel. "My experience has only been against men older than myself."

"You're from a clan? Whereabouts exactly?"

"To the east."

Ko balked. "Out in the boo-, I mean all the way out there?" He cleared his throat. "Sorry. Surprised me. You just seem right at home here so it didn't even occur to me that you hailed from that area."

"That so? I won't deny that I could get used to this kind of place," remarked Karel.

Ko smiled. "I see. The small life not treating you well?"

Karel snorted. "It can be a little…constraining at times." He ran his finger along the rim of his mug. "What about yourself? You've hardly said a word about why you're here."

"Fair enough. I'm out here with some of my fellow mercenaries to take care of some work."

"You're a mercenary as well?"

Ko downed the rest of his ale in one gulp. "Yep. Proud member of Morgan's Mercenaries. We're a small group based in Bulgar. Pay is good though and we're pretty highly respected for the work we do."

"I see."

"You know, after your display today, what would you say to joining us?"

Karel's finger stopped as he looked over at Ko. The young man's smile was gone, replaced by a serious and earnest expression. Karel gave him a half-smile. "I don't know if your boss would take to a sudden hire like me."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. If there's one thing I know about the boss, it's that he knows quality when he sees it and I'd say you've got it to burn. Besides, we've been looking for a new recruit of late and I'd say you fit the bill. What do you say? You can come live a life of adventure, be the master of your own destiny. Or you can continue to live the same mundane life you've been living in your little clan. The choice is yours."

Karel eyes Ko before breaking away. "I'll need some time to think."

"Suit yourself. We'll be in town for the next three days but after that we'll be heading out. If you do decide, we'll be waiting for you at the Lionheart."

Ko left his gold on the table and left without saying another word, leaving Karel to stew over the offer. He glanced over and saw much to his surprise that his uncle hadn't been rejected by the Illians and was actually sitting at their table. He shook his head and leaned back in the chair. Ko's offer dangled in front of him like a big juicy carrot, begging to be grabbed. He almost said yes then and there but held himself back. With a sigh, he left the coins behind and headed up to his room and promptly threw himself on the bed.

-x-

The entire trip back had been silent, owing mostly due to his uncle's bad headache from the previous night. Karel had not been in a very talkative mood either, his thoughts still dwelling on his conversation with Ko from the other day. As they neared the camp, he caught sight of Karla and Samal playing a game of sorts. He smiled when he saw Karla wave in his direction.

Karla, Samal, and for all his antics, his Uncle Raidal had given him some of his best memories during his time at the camp. When he was around them, he felt at ease, comfortable and like he truly was home. But was he simply staying for them? Karla was growing up quickly; he couldn't play the role of the elder brother forever and it seemed that chapter was drawing closer to an end every day. Samal was friendly and pleasant, but the two had never truly established any sort of bond. Samal was merely his cousin, the son of his crazy uncle. Raidal looked out for Karel since he was a boy, but Karel was no longer a youth who needed his uncle's support.

There was something in the camp that always bothered Karel. It wasn't like a person or an object; it was more of a sensation, something that permeated the very atmosphere of the place. For the longest time he had been uncertain what it was, but after last week, he was certain he knew now.

It was fear.

The fear of death, of weakness, of fragility. No doubt it was part of the reason his father remained so close. The memories of that night hung over the camp and everyone's memories like a black fog that no wind could dispel. The incident last week seemed to reawaken those memories. The looks in his family's eyes were no different than the looks they had after the massacre.

He was so damn tired of it all.

He dismounted and helped his uncle do the same before Reyn led the horses back to their pen. Karel helped to hold up his uncle as he blinked his eyes.

"Father Sky that journey went quickly," said his uncle groggily.

"That's what happens when you sleep through most of it," grunted Karel.

"Welcome back, brother!" greeted Karla enthusiastically as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "How was the trip?"

Karel gave her a gentle smile as he ruffled her hair. "It was insightful in more ways that I had expected."

"Insightful?" repeated Karla in a confused voice. "I thought you had just gone to fight at the arena."

"There's a lot to be learned sometimes in just the journey itself," said Karel.

"Since when did you become the clan philosopher?" came Peta's teasing voice. Chayton stood behind him, his arms crossed in front of him.

"I presume the trip was successful?" asked Chayton coolly.

"Completely," Karel replied curtly. "All the materials needed are in the packs, as well as the left over gold."

"Amazing! You must have really cleaned up in the arena," remarked Peta with a laugh.

"He only fought one match," interjected his uncle. "But the odds were so stacked against him, that the bet paid off five to one."

"Was he a tough opponent?" asked Karla.

"He had skill, but he wasn't able to touch me," said Karel.

"Samal, how are the girls doing?" asked his uncle.

"Their condition has improved greatly. With this medicine, they should be back to normal in a few days. I can't vouch for the psychological damage they've endured though," said Samal as he let out a sigh.

"Psychological damage? What do you mean?" growled Peta.

Samal held up his hands urging Peta to calm down. "Relax, Peta. Some of them are still traumatized by the incident. One of them won't even let me near her she's so terrified. I have to ask Alli to administer her treatment because of it."

Peta's eyes narrowed and he spat at the ground. "This is humiliating. For our clan to be reduced to a bunch of dogs licking their wounds just because we let out guard down for a moment is embarrassing beyond words. Why father hasn't done anything yet is beyond me."

"Agreed," chimed in Chayton. "The Daodin clan has long been the strongest clan in this region. Our failure to act will only give the enemy clans the impression that we are weak."

"And so what would you propose?" asked Karel, his eyes narrowed. "Would you do unto the Iorin the same they did unto us?"

Chayton chuckled. "Don't be naïve, little brother. We would not do the same unto them. We would utterly destroy them. We would make an example out of the Iorin for their insolence."

"You talk like we are their kings. We are not, Chayton," stated Karel. "Would you make enemies of all the clans just for the sake of your pride?"

"What is left of our clan at this point but our pride and the Wo Dao?" replied Chayton. "What is there for any of the clans that live in this place? We barely can grow any crops and livestock is hard to come by. We live day to day to survive. In this land, only the strong survive. Weakness of any kind is intolerable."

Karel couldn't hold back his chuckle as it morphed into a full laugh. After a moment, his mirth died down. "You really are the one to inherit the clan, Chayton. I can't think of anyone more fitting to take father's place than you."

Chayton's steely cold gaze locked with Karel's smug one for a moment. "And I can't think of anyone more undeserving of father's attention than you." Karel's smirk was rapidly replaced by a stoic expression. "You, of all of us, are the only one to earn father's attention, yet you toss it aside as though it were a worthless bauble. He has given more to you than either Peta or myself, yet you shun his gifts. You mock him! You act so high and mighty, as though you own the camp, yet you don't give a damn about any of it."

Karel could feel his anger boiling beneath his skin. "If you want his attention so much, it's all yours. It's not like I'm getting in your way," he said through grit teeth.

"Oi, guys, maybe we should take a step back," said Samal as he tried to calm the situation down.

"Then again, you'd actually have to be worth something in his eyes first," said Karel icily.

"You don't deserve to be talking about worth. You've had it, but you've squandered it," replied Chayton just as coldly. "I'm sick to death of your arrogant attitude. If you think you are so much better than this clan, then get out."

Karel's eyes narrowed to the point where the two were glaring daggers at each other. Both had their hands on their swords, ready to draw should the other act first.

"That is enough!" Both looked over to see Ryland observing them. Karel could feel his icy gaze meet his for a moment before turning it back to Chayton. "Peta, Chayton, help Samal tend to the girls. Karel, return to your tent. Raidal, come with me."

Karel gave Chayton one last glare. "Maybe one day you'll get your wish."

While he was not one to follow his father's orders, this time Karel had no qualms following it to the last letter. He stormed off to his tent and threw himself upon the mat. As he looked at the ceiling of the tent, he knew; he had his answer.

-x-

Ryland set the Wo Dao upon the mantle with reverence before sitting down.

"Shall I prepare some tea?" asked Raidal. "It has been a long time since the two of us talked and I would rather we savor the opportunity."

"Enough," dismissed Ryland. "I do not have time for any drinks or any of your sentimentalities."

"I see. What do you need to speak with me about then?" asked Raidal.

"How did Karel do in the arena?" asked Ryland, his voice much more relaxed, almost casual even.

Raidal blinked but cleared his throat. "He performed admirably. He is certainly not short on confidence in his skills, considering he bet all of our money on his very first match. He certainly has his impetuous moments, but he handled himself just fine. Although…"

"Although?"

Raidal crossed his arms. "There's something different about him of late. He's been more distant of late, making it hard to read him at times."

Ryland nodded, and closed his eyes in thought. "Thank you. That tells me all I needed to know."

"Regarding what?"

Ryland stood up and placed his hand upon the Wo Dao. "My successor."

"You mean you've come to make a decision?" asked Raidal, rather surprised by the announcement.

"It is time. With Karel finally of age, I am obligated by our traditions to name an heir," explained Ryland. "And I have made my decision. Chayton will inherit the clan after me."

Raidal blinked once. Then he blinked again. "I'm not sure I heard you right. This old man's hearing isn't what it used to be."

"Don't play dumb, brother. I am making Chayton the next heir to the Daodin Clan. This decision is final."

"Are you sure you are not being hasty in your decision?" asked Raidal. "Why Chayton? Why now?"

"I had originally planned to announce Karel as my heir last week, but things…changed," said Ryland. "With the arena, I figured it would give me one last attempt to test Karel's heart. You have told me all I need to know."

"Karel is the rightful heir of this clan," insisted Raidal. "You and I both know that he is unquestionably the most skilled swordsman, certainly worth to one day wield the Wo Dao."

"His skill is unparalleled," admitted Ryland. "I've never seen someone with talent like his. I would not be surprised if one day his skills matched the original founder of our clan. However, he is not fit to lead the clan."

"How?"

"His heart is not with us," said Ryland. "He does not view himself as a member of this clan, not anymore."

"And just how are you so sure of this?"

Ryland chuckled. "There are some things a father knows. The rest I have felt in his blade. Regardless of what any of us say or do, he will leave this clan one day. It might even be sooner than you think."

"And you are content to just let him go?" asked Raidal. "Or is this your way of paying him back for last week?"

Ryland fixed his raptor gaze upon Raidal. "I do not have time to waste upon a petulant son. I am the leader of the Daodin clan first and a father second. My feelings have nothing to do with the matter," replied Ryland.

"I…see."

Ryland placed a hand upon his brother's shoulder. "Keep an eye on him." His voice was much softer than Raidal had heard in a long time.

Raidal nodded. "As you wish, brother."

-x-

It was late at night. Karel peered out from behind the tent flap and safely assumed that everyone was asleep. He slung the pack over his shoulder and silently made his way towards the perimeter of the camp. He had contemplated stopping by the pen to grab a horse but immediately rejected the idea. Even if he managed to get atop one, it would likely cause such a ruckus that the entire camp would wake. It would take much longer on foot, but this was the best option available to him.

He stopped in front of Karla's tent and gently pulled the flap back. She was asleep, a soft smile on her face. He sat down and pulled the blanket tighter around her and gave her a gentle pat upon the head.

"Brother?" she whispered in a sleepy voice. Her eyes fluttered open and met his right away. She could tell something was off right away. "Are you okay?"

Karel nodded, reassuring her with a smile. "I'm fine. Karla, I'm going away for a while."

"Going away?"

"Yeah. I don't know if I'll ever be back or not, but this is something I have to do. I can't stay here any longer." He could see a tear roll down her cheek. He cupped her face with his hand and wiped it away with his thumb. "I'm sorry. I know this all sudden."

"Do you have to go?" she asked softly. "I don't want you to."

Karel sighed and steeled his resolve. "Yes. I have to go. I promise this won't be goodbye forever though. We'll see each other again. I promise you." She nodded as the tears began to flow in earnest. "Have I ever broken a promise to you?"

"N-no."

"Then this time will be no different," assured Karel. His sister threw herself into his chest, wrapping her thin arms around his waist. He pulled her close, feeling her tears stain his robe. After a few minutes, she pulled away. Karel wiped away the few remaining tears and gave her one last smile.

"You better keep your promise, brother," whispered Karla.

"I will. Until we meet again, sister." Karel left as silently as he had entered and quickened his pace as he reached the perimeter of the camp. As he passed the last tent, he heard a voice call out to him.

"Leaving already?"

Karel froze in his tracks. He turned around and saw his uncle standing in front of his tent, a somber expression on his face. He was still in his nightclothes.

Karel didn't try to defend himself and just nodded. "Yes. I'm leaving for Sassair where I'm going to join Ko's mercenary company."

"I was wondering what you two were talking about," muttered his uncle.

Neither said anything for a minute. "Are you going to try and stop me?" asked Karel softly.

His uncle shook his head. "Wouldn't make a bit of difference if an old guy like me tried anyway. I'm just making sure I keep my promise." Karel was about to ask what he meant when his uncle held out a long cloth covered pouch for him. "Take it."

Karel could feel something hard and solid under the cloth. Pulling it away, he was surprised to see a curved sword with an ornate red leather handle. He pulled the sword and was amazed at how easily the weapon slid from its sheath.

"That Killing Edge used to be mine in my younger days. The metal sheath and blade were a gift from an old friend of mine I met on my travels. It got me through many a troubled time and I'm hoping that it does the same for you," said his uncle.

Karel returned the sword to its sheath, trading his old sword for the new one. He held out his iron sword to his uncle, but didn't immediately release his grip on the weapon when his uncle took it.

"I know this is selfish coming from me, but I have a favor to ask of you uncle," said Karel. His grip on the iron sword relaxed. "Please look after Karla for me. I can only imagine how depressed she'll be tomorrow."

Raidal nodded. "You needn't worry. You aren't the only one who cares about her future."

Karel smiled. "Thank you."

"Karel," said his uncle. "A word of advice to you. The land of Sacae is much bigger and much more different than what this little clan has shown you. Should you ever meet any of the three tribes, the Djute, Kutolah, or Lorca, make sure you take care. They are quite different from the lives we of the east lead."

"I'll keep it in mind." Karel turned around and looked up at the night sky. The full moon rested high above him upon a blanket of stars. He gave one last look over his shoulder to his uncle. "Farewell, uncle."

"May Father Sky and Mother Earth watch over you in your journey."

Without another word he took off into the night. As he disappeared into the sea of grass, he glanced back and could no longer see the camp. He allowed himself a small smile. With each step forward, he moved one step further away from his old life and closer to something even greater.

_A/N: And thus Karel's journey begins in earnest. I hope this chapter didn't end up being too long. If it was, let me know and I'll see about trimming down the size in the future. Regarding Raidal's comment about the clans at the end, I'd like to add one thing. I am considering the Lorca to be one of the three main tribes in Sacae. It's a point of debate, but for this story I will take it as fact. I don't have much more to add, but will likely have more to say as we get further along into the story. If you have any comments, critique, or whatnot, feel free to share it.  
_


	5. Morgan's Mercenaries

Chapter 4: Morgan's Mercenaries

Ko resisted the urge to smack the chirping bird perched on his windowsill just above the head of his bed. He sat up and rubbed his eyes; the sun had almost risen over the mountains to the east. He pulled his sheet tighter as a breeze blew through the open window. He was looking forward to returning to the much warmer climate of Bulgar. Sassair rested near the border of the Ilian mountain range and along with it the cold weather infamous throughout the region. While Sassair and the eastern plains of Sacae were hardly comparable to Ilia's frozen tundra, the dry and cool air was starkly different to a plainsman raised in the humid heat of the central plains.

The bird looked up at Ko with anticipation, as though expecting something for its deed of waking him. He rolled his eyes and started digging through his pouch. He placed a few seeds on the windowsill; the bird happily devoured its reward before departing.

"Greedy rats with wings," mumbled Ko through a yawn. He threw the sheet back upon the straw bed and quickly started to dress, lest another lick of wind steal more of his warmth. He adjusted his green tunic and pulled his unruly hair in line with his headband. Satisfied that he had everything, he shouldered his sack and made his way downstairs.

Unsurprisingly, Farah was already downstairs along with Drake. Farah was reading over some document, occasionally taking a drink from her cup, but her eyes never left the parchment. Drake lit his pipe and closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply. Ko took a seat at the table and helped himself to a double baked roll and some butter. The bread was just as tough as he'd expected but the butter at least helped make it more palatable. He washed breakfast down with a swig of water from his canteen and leaned back in the chair.

"Well, it's day three. Have we got a target or are we returning empty handed?" asked Ko as he helped himself to another roll.

Drake removed the pipe from his mouth. "Bounty. A live one too from the sound o' things."

Farah set the document on the table as she adjusted her red scarf around her neck. "We're after a man named Zarakas. He's a former knight from Araphen. Discharged for dishonorable conduct and worked here as a mercenary until he decided banditry paid better."

"'Parently the man's good with a lance," added Drake. "Not ta mention he 'as o'er thirty men under 'im."

"How much they offering to bring this one down?" asked Ko.

"Three thousand," replied Farah.

Ko let out a low whistle. "Not too bad. It actually pays better than the last one."

"But we didn't need to kill thirty other men on top of Jagger," rebuked Farah. "We'll be attacking their home base so we're going to need to prepare."

"It's just a bunch of bandits and one competent fighter. Nothing we can't handle," said Ko as he hand waved Farah's concerns. Farah fixed him with a cold gaze that was only further enhanced by her piercing blue eyes. Ko sheepishly grinned, but it did little to dissolve the sudden tension in the room.

"A bunch o' men once tried ta catch a monster of a shark 'round Caledonia that had been terrifyin' the locals for weeks," reflected Drake as he smoked his pipe. "They were armed ta the teeth with harpoons and all the weapons they'd need. They found the damned beast and tried ta kill it but it managed ta escape them. They gave pursuit fer three days only ta find themselves in waters infested with the devils all 'round 'em. The shark had lured 'em into a trap and those sailors didn't even realize it 'cause they thought they had it cornered." He exhaled, blowing out a long stream of smoke. "Only three of 'em made it back."

Ko sighed. "All right, all right. I get it. We'll be careful."

Farah turned her attention back to the document as she read it over again. "The base of Zarakas's operations is in an abandoned shrine to the south of here. At best, it'll just be a side trip before we return to Bulgar." She stood up, her fingers still pressed to the document.

"Something more to add?" asked Ko. Farah shook her head and departed to finish purchasing supplies for the journey.

"Gotta say, I think we can handle this just fine, but havin' another hand on deck would certainly make things a mite easier," said Drake. He cleaned out the pipe before returning it to the pouch strung to his side. "Ya'd best get Mara so we can be off."

Ko nodded. As he made his way through the streets to the stables, he couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something. The whinny from Mara jolted him out of his thoughts. He gently rubbed her snout, prompting her to nuzzle close.

"Okay, okay, Mara. I do have a treat for you. I can't forget my favorite girl after all, right?" The horse whinnied in reply as he produced a large, juicy carrot. Mara greedily ate the entire thing out of Ko's hand in a matter of seconds. Ko just shook his head, and made sure the saddle was in place. He climbed up and made a clicking sound with his mouth. Mara promptly trotted out of the stables and towards the gates. He did a quick once over and saw that his quiver was still stocked with at least twenty arrows. His steel sword was in fine shape and the short bow had been recently restrung.

He arrived at the gate and dismounted, letting Mara graze upon some of the short grass lining the edge of the walls. He sat down, running his hands through the grass. It was so unlike the tall grass the plains of Sacae were famous for. The short grass was soft, almost like velvet at times and supple, nothing like the fibrous and sturdy tall grass. He relished the feel of it, just as he was sure Mara savored the taste of it.

"Best get your fill while you can, girl. Once we're back on the road you aren't going to be seeing grass like this again for a while," said Ko as he gave the horse a pat. Mara snorted in response. "What? Don't give me that look."

As he waited, Drake's words from earlier played over in his head and he realized what it was he was forgetting. He took a look over the plains but didn't see a sign of anyone. He shrugged his shoulders.

"That's too bad. I thought for sure he'd come too," remarked Ko disappointedly.

"For whom?" came Farah's voice from behind, causing Ko to jump. Farah raised an amused eyebrow while Drake grinned at the surprised expression on Ko's face.

"A bit antsy?" teased Drake.

Ko glared at the two. "Not in the slightest."

"Were you expecting someone?" asked Farah as she tethered one of the pouches to Mara's saddle.

"Which girl's heart did ya break this time?" asked Drake with a faint smile on his face.

Ko let out an exasperated sigh. "It wasn't a girl this time. Besides, those Ilians may look pretty but they can be downright terrifying if you end up on their bad side," he muttered to no one in particular. "I had been hoping that swordsman we crossed paths with the other day decided to join us but it looks like I was mistaken."

"The one from the arena fight with Jagger?" asked Drake.

Ko nodded. "No point worrying about it now. Shall we?"

Farah nodded and the trio set out on the southerly road leading back to Bulgar.

-x-

Karel was lost, he was sure of it. He had been certain he was going in the direction of Sassair but even with his attempt at using the sun and the moon as guides he just felt like he was going nowhere. It certainly didn't help that the grassy plain he was standing in now looked identical to the grassy plain he was standing in an hour ago. He hadn't even found a trail he could at least follow. He sat down and took a long drink from his canteen. His intention to arrive at Sassair this morning was already well out the window. The sun was already approaching high noon, meaning they definitely left already. He only hoped that he could perhaps meet them on the road or if worse came to worse, he could always go to Bulgar and hopefully find them there.

Of course, first he'd have to actually _find_ Bulgar.

Karel got up and continued his journey. Rather than try to head in some mixture of north and west, he simply intended to head west. He would have to find something eventually. His stomach protested his march yet Karel couldn't do anything about it. He hadn't brought any food with him. He had passed a herd of antelope on the way but they had scattered as soon as he drew within earshot. There was something ironic in that the prodigy swordsman couldn't hunt an animal to save his life.

As he crested the next hill, he did a double take. Just to make sure he wasn't seeing things, he rubbed his eyes. He clearly wasn't. About a good mile or two ahead of him was a building of some sort. He doubled his pace and got closer. With any luck, he might find someone who could help him, or even find some food.

He realized as he drew closer that the building was a shrine, much like the one he saw back in Dugral. The difference between the two was that this one was much larger. It also clearly hadn't been used as a shrine for some time now. Ivy covered the walls, from the foundation to the roof. Much of the stone was cracked and sections of the wall either had holes or had fallen apart entirely. Upon seeing the dilapidated building, he could feel his hopes of finding food or help scatter upon the winds.

He wasn't more than a hundred paces from the building when he saw two men come around the wall to relieve themselves. Karel instinctively ducked down into the tall grass. Both men were armed with cheap iron axes and wore little beyond some plain cloth clothes a maybe a piece of leather padding. The two men muttered something unintelligible before heading back to the front. Karel followed close behind. Even if they were bandits, he might be able to at least figure out where he was.

He peered around the corner but snapped back almost immediately. He hadn't expected there to be nearly as many men as there were. He saw twenty, maybe even more, all armed with axes or swords as well as a few archers. He could make out various bits and pieces of the conversations going on but nothing that helped get any closer to figuring out where he was.

There was no reason to linger. He snatched a second look out to survey the area and try to account for the number of men when he heard a snap behind him. He spun around only for two men to pin him to the wall. He cursed his lax attitude and allowing himself to be caught off guard like this. Suddenly he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head. His vision blurred but he could feel the grass all around him. Voices echoed around him. He tried to stand but felt a sharp kick to the face before he blacked out.

-x-

Pain, dull and throbbing filled all of his senses. On one hand, he was grateful for it since if confirmed he was still alive. On the other, his head felt like it was on fire. Karel's eyes slowly opened. He wasn't entirely sure where he was; a musty smell filled his nostrils, nearly causing him to cough. The room had no windows; what light there was shone through the small cracks scattered along the wall. Karel shifted his weight to stand only to realize his hands and legs were bound.

_Of course_, he thought annoyingly. _Brigands competent enough to actually tie up a captive, now that's something you don't see every day._

Using the wall for support, he managed to put his eye to a crack in the wall but accidentally bumped his head against the stone, further aggravating his splitting headache. He felt noticeably lighter and realized it was because they had taken his sword. Putting his eye to a hole, he could see the blazing red sun slowly sinking into the western plains. It was almost dusk.

He took a look at the ropes binding his legs. They weren't tied very well and didn't feel nearly as tight as the ones on his wrists. He wriggled his legs back and forth and could feel the knot giving here and there.

Karel halted as the sound of something heavy scraping against the ground caught his attention. The door to the room slammed open. A man with wavy blonde hair, clad head to toe in armor stepped in, followed by two gruff looking mercenaries. Karel fell back into the shadows near the corner where he could attempt to undo the knot around his legs.

"So the little thief finally awakens," spoke the armored man. Karel kept his expression flat and unreadable. "Did you think you could sneak into my camp and steal my gold and treasure under my nose? The audacity of you savages never ceases to amaze me."

Karel looked up at the man. That was why his blonde hair seemed so unnatural; he wasn't from Sacae. While he knew the odds were slim of it achieving anything, he figured he might as well try and defend himself. "I'm no thief. I just happened upon your campsite by chance."

The man quirked an eyebrow, an amused smile on his face. "Oh? Just by chance? I suppose," he snapped his fingers and one of the men brought forth Karel's sword, "that you also acquired this 'by chance?' Killing Edges are valuable and rare weapons, certainly not something you'd find in the possession of a child. So what swordsman did you pilfer it from?"

Karel glared at the man. "I didn't steal it. That sword rightfully belongs to me."

The man chuckled. "But of course." He returned the sword to one of the grunts.

"Boss, what do we do with him?" asked one of the men.

"Kill him. If he does have allies, he won't tell us; I can see that much in his eyes. Besides, rats like him won't be missed," said the armored man coldly as he shut the door behind him.

Karel started to back away when he heard something. At first it was a low rumble but it was getting louder and fast. A loud clamor could be heard outside as men shouted something back and forth to each other. Both of the men paused for a moment, apparently debating whether they should leave Karel and investigate or finish their job. Karel chose for them. He gave one last tug and felt the knot give way, freeing his legs. He leapt up, pulling his hands under his legs and charged the man holding the Killing Edge. He pulled the blade from its sheath and slashed the man through the neck before spinning around to parry the second grunt's blade. He struck at the man's open stomach and sliced his belly open. The man collapsed to the ground trying to keep his insides from spilling before Karel put him out of his misery.

With the rope binding his hands severed, he snuck out the door only for an arrow to zip right past his face. He dove behind a set of barrels and tried to figure out just what was going on out there.

The bandits were all trying to surround a mounted archer and failing miserably. The archer made another pass and shot off a round of arrows, this time claiming the lives of two unfortunate bandits. The archers tried to shoot him down while the armored man barked out orders. The volley only narrowly missed the mounted archer.

"Stop wasting your arrows, you worthless fools!" barked the armored knight. The mounted archer came back for a second sweep. His arrows took another life but the blonde haired man deflected one with his lance. The archer beat his horse back, this time seeming to retreat.

"Well? Go after him! And bring whatever comrades he has back here!" ordered the man. "They will learn to fear the name of Zarakas!"

The brigands charged but they got no further than the tall grass when suddenly a beast of a man came out swinging with a huge double-sided battle axe. Karel watched in awe as the man slew four men with one mighty sweep. The bandits shifted their focus to the new attacker and struck as one. This however, worked to their disadvantage as the men got in the other's way. The axe wielder leapt back before bringing his devastating weapon around for a second strike. The axe claimed the lives of the next few unfortunate fools while scattering the others like baby spiders.

The bandits appeared to have calmed down and focused instead upon encircling their new attacker. Karel could feel his left hand tighten on his sword. The axe was deadly but if the surrounded him like that he wouldn't be able to defend against ten attacks simultaneously. Suddenly a blast of fire smote a sword-wielding bandit in the side, causing the group to pause and look about in confusion. The burly berserker charged two unsuspecting bandits and blew them away with a single chop. The mounted archer returned, this time picking off the bandits one by one as they panicked, unsure who to attack or what to do.

"Men, take your target!" ordered Zarakas. Karel glanced back and saw four archers had their bows trained on the mounted horseman. At this close a range, he wouldn't be able to dodge that many shots. In that moment, Karel reacted without thinking. All he knew was that if he stayed, he would have to contend with Zarakas and his men. He'd rather take his chances with his apparent saviors than his captors.

Before Zarakas could give the command, Karel bounded over the barrels and slashed the archer closest to him through the neck. The blade was so sharp that it took his left arm as well. Karel didn't have time to marvel at the edge of his new weapon though as he ran the Killing Edge into the gut of the next archer before spinning around and inflicting a fatal slash to the third's chest. The fourth archer dropped his weapon in panic and fled before Karel could reach him.

"You! So you did have allies after all!" roared Zarakas. Karel raised his sword to deflect the thrust just in the nick of time.

"I'm not in the mood to argue with you right now," shot back Karel as he dodged to the right to avoid the next thrust.

"I don't have time to talk with a corpse! Die!" Zarakas swept the lance to try and drive Karel back but the nimble swordsman simply slid under the attack, putting him up close to Zarakas's exposed right flank. The man's eyes widened in panic but he could not escape his fate. Karel slammed the Killing Edge into the exposed armpit that was covered only by chainmail and ripped the sword up, nearly cutting the right arm clean off in the process. Zarakas dropped to the ground a dead metal heap, his lifeblood pooling around him.

Karel flicked the blood off the blade. He was amazed at how superior the weapon was to his old iron sword. The sword cut through men like a hot knife through butter. He returned the blade to its sheath and stepped out of the shrine only to suddenly be ambushed from behind. He could feel cold steel pressed up against his neck as his attacker pinned his right arm with his weight.

_Again? You've got be kidding me_, thought Karel as he tasted grass for the second time that day.

"Don't move if you want to live," spoke a cool female voice. Karel still had his left hand free and most of his attacker's weight was centered upon his back. He closed his eyes and immediately slammed his left hand against the side of the hilt. The sheathed weapon spun on the cord and smacked his attacker in the back. Karel leaned forward, causing her to slide off of him. He immediately righted himself and drew his sword to face his foe.

She was about his height, with short, neck-length black hair and a dark red scarf around her neck that covered her mouth. A brown cloak covered most of her body. Her piercing blue eyes locked with his gray black ones. He saw her pull a book from out of the folds of her brown cloak and momentarily dropped his guard, confused as to what she was going to do with it.

"Fire!"

Karel barely dodged to the side in time as a ball of fire shot forth from her right hand and shot towards him. He cursed inwardly as he felt the heat from the attack burn his cheek. He understood one thing clearly now; that was magic. While he had no idea how to block or counter it, he at least understood that it was like any projectile and could be dodged. The young woman backed away and prepared to launch another attack when suddenly the mounted archer rode in between them.

"Whoa! Stay your hand, Farah!" urged the rider. Karel's ears perked up at the voice. It was very familiar.

"Ko?" he asked.

The rider glanced over in Karel's direction and a large grin burst across his face. "It is you! I wasn't sure at first from the distance but I'm glad I was right. Man, imagine meeting you all the way out here!"

The woman named Farah removed her scarf from her mouth but still her grip upon the magic tome remained firm. "Do you know him, Ko?"

"Ah, yeah. Don't you remember him as well?" asked Ko. Farah blinked and then looked again at Karel. "He's the swordsman that defeated Jagger in the arena," explained Ko.

Karel sheathed his sword and nodded. "I'm Karel."

Farah finally put the tome away. "I see. What are you doing here?"

Karel blinked, put off a bit by her directness. "Well, I was actually looking for you guys."

"Lookin' fer us? What fer?" asked the burly axe wielder from earlier. Now that he stood next to him, Karel felt incredibly small. The man had to be over six feet and his body was covered in thick muscle. Little surprise he supposed considering the heft of the axe he wore.

"Ko had spoken with me back in Sassair a few days ago and had offered me an opportunity to join your mercenary company," explained Karel. "I was hoping to take you up on that offer."

"Ko, this the kid you were talkin' about back in town?" asked the axe-wielder.

"Yep, the same one," confirmed Ko, still grinning. "Karel, this is Drake."

Karel gave a polite nod to the aged axe man.

"Heh, don't worry 'bout formalities with me. Don't care much fer 'em," said Drake with a chuckle.

"That still doesn't answer my question," interrupted Farah. "Why exactly are you here if you were heading to Sassair? It seems a little too convenient for you to suddenly find us at the same place as our mark."

"Your mark?" repeated Karel, confused. "Are you talking about the armored knight?"

Ko nodded. "Zarakas. We hoped to do a bit of bandit cleanup and collect on the bounty the guy's got on his head. Did you see him?"

Karel motioned to the entrance. "He's in there, soaking in his own blood."

"He's dead?" repeated Ko in surprise. "Did you kill him?"

"He was directing his archers to shoot you down, so I intervened and in the process ended up killing him," explained Karel.

Ko suddenly started laughing. "Man, this is rich! Not only does Karel steal our first bounty, he even manages to steal our second! And he's completely clueless about it!"

Drake gave Ko a shove. "Gone daft, lad? It sounds more like you should be thanking the boy fer savin' yer hide out there."

Karel couldn't suppress a small grin at the antics of the two mercenaries. "I arrived here by accident. Truthfully, well…I got lost," he finally admitted.

Farah's serious expression broke for a moment to be replaced by surprise. "You…got lost?"

Karel could feel his face flush a bit when she repeated it. "Yes."

When he looked over, he saw she had a sly yet amused expression on her face while Ko and Drake were both chuckling at the poor swordsman's predicament.

"Oi, Farah, we'd better probably take Karel along just in case he gets lost again," suggested Ko with a wink in Karel's direction.

Farah let out a small sigh. "You're welcome to bring him back with us to Bulgar."

"Does that mean I'm a part of the mercenary company?" asked Karel.

She shook her head. "No. It's not any of our decisions to make. That rests with our commander, Morgan." She turned to Drake. "Drake, make sure you get some proof that we took out Zakaras."

"Hopefully there's somethin' left to take," joked Drake.

Karel stood for a moment, unsure of what to do until a horsetail whipped him in the face. He turned to glare at the animal that let out a loud whinny, almost as though it were laughing at him.

"Haha! It seems Mara likes you already," said Ko as he got back on his mount.

"I don't think that's what she's thinking," muttered Karel. He felt another pang of hunger wrack his body. He saw a piece of jerky offered to him and he gladly took it before devouring the thing in seconds.

"Sheesh, did you not bring any food or something?" asked Ko.

"I wasn't exactly expecting to run into the problem I did on the way out here," replied Karel.

Ko shook his head. "Fair enough."

Drake gave the two a signal to pick up the pace. Ko waved back before urging Mara to pick up the pace. Karel followed closely behind. It may not have been the way he expected to meet up with them, but he was glad that everything had worked out thus far.

-x-

It wasn't until the late afternoon the next day that the group had finally arrived at Bulgar. Karel stopped and could only stare in awe at what he saw. Sassair seemed tiny by comparison to this place. The mercenaries stepped through the gates and seemingly into another world entirely. The streets were covered in cobblestone, something that felt almost unnatural underneath his feet. While mostly Sacaens and some Ilians had populated Sassair, Bulgar seemed to have every kind of person under the sun. All of them went about their business with a pleasant smile and seemed oblivious to any difference in skin or heritage.

They reached a fork in the road and the group went off down the right path. Karel glanced down the left and saw what appeared to be a marketplace down a ways. The right path was lined with taverns and inns. Some were well kept with the colors of their signs as vivid as though they'd been painted that very day. He passed some though that looked like they were ready to collapse if the wind blew the wrong way.

Karel was grateful that the three had been so quick to accept him. Well, perhaps accept wasn't quite the right word. Ko was perfectly fine seeing as he had extended the invitation in the first place and even Drake had talked with Karel some on the return trip. Farah however, clearly didn't trust him or have any desire to talk with him. He wasn't quite sure how to describe it, but the way she looked at him it was almost like she had some sort of vendetta against him. He was sure he hadn't done anything to wrong her, at least not beyond his unintentional interference in their bounties.

He was more concerned about it since she apparently was in charge of Ko and Drake which meant that she was closer to the guy who lead them: Morgan. Karel wasn't entirely sure what to expect when he met Morgan. Ko didn't seem worried about it while Drake and Farah hadn't said anything on the matter. Still, he had never really faced the possibility of what would happen if he was rejected by Morgan. He would not return to his clan. He had left all that behind. It was a disconcerting thought though, and one that made him uneasy.

Ko left Mara in the stables and the group went into a large oak building called Clara's Tavern. Karel followed closely behind. As soon as he stepped in, he was surprised at how quickly he relaxed. The tavern had a down to earth feel, from its round tables to the carved wood pieces hanging along the wall. A homely woman waved at the group from behind the counter.

"Farah, it's so good to see you and the others back safe and sound," greeted the woman warmly.

Farah returned with a small smile. "Thank you, Clara. It's good to be back."

"I'll say! Nothing like a good bowl of Clara's special stew to fill up a man after a long few days of mercenary work," said Ko as he took a seat at a table.

"I'll make sure I get you a bowl soon, dear," replied Clara sweetly. She glanced over Farah and directly at Karel. "You're a new face. What brings you to my tavern, son?"

"This troublemaker's name is Karel. He wants to join our company," said Ko as he kicked his feet up on the table.

Farah nodded. "Do you know where Commander Morgan is?"

"He's upstairs in his room sorting through all sorts of papers," said Clara. "Honestly, the man is such a workoholic it's a miracle he doesn't pass out half the time."

"Thanks," said Farah. She turned to Karel. "Wait here. I'll let you know when the commander is ready to see you."

Karel just nodded and took a seat. Drake gave the two a nod before retiring to a room at the back of the tavern. Clara went into the kitchen and returned with two steaming hot bowls of stew. She set one at Ko's table and one by Karel. He was about to object seeing as he didn't have any money but she stopped him.

"Don't you worry, dear. Consider this one of the house," said Clara.

Ko had already begun devouring his food with complete and total abandon. It smelled divine yet Karel couldn't quite bring himself to eat any of it. He still felt uneasy and uncertain about things. He sat there for a couple of minutes until he heard a door open and the stairs creak as someone came down. He saw Farah give him a curt nod and he followed her up the stairs and through one of the doors. The room was filled with books upon shelves and desks covered in paperwork. The trunk with clothes and the bed seemed almost more like an afterthought than a natural part of the room.

Sitting at the desk, busily scribbling away on a piece of paper, was a man with straight brown hair that reached to his neck. He wore a simple tunic and slacks but had a deep navy blue cloak drawn across the back of his chair. His face was starting to show its age from the faint wrinkles appearing under his eyes. He replaced his quill before letting out a sigh. It was only when he turned around that he seemed to be aware of his new guests.

He offered his hand to Karel. "You are Karel, correct? Pleasure to meet you. I am Morgan, leader of the mercenary company here," he greeted in a warm bass voice. Karel looked at the outstretched hand, unsure exactly what to do. Morgan chuckled. "Forgive me. I forget that western traditions are generally unknown in these parts. This is a handshake, a form of greeting common to areas such as Etruria and Bern."

"My apologies, Commander Morgan," said Karel as he gripped Morgan's hand firmly.

"Pleasure is mine. I take it you've already met my apprentice, Farah?" Farah gave a brief nod of acknowledgement.

"Yes, I have."

Morgan motioned for Karel to take a seat in the chair at the other desk. It was strange; Morgan was nowhere near as intimidating physically as someone like Drake yet the man had an aura of authority and control around him that was impossible to ignore.

"From what Farah has told me, you have exhibited an impressive amount of skill, particularly for someone your age. You defeated both Jagger and Zarakas, two rather large bounties that have been causing trouble in Sacae of late," said Morgan.

Karel couldn't repress a smirk. Those two were considered to be tough opponents? He almost had to laugh; even his brothers probably could have handled those men without too much issue.

"Did I say something amusing?" asked Morgan, a small smile on his face.

"No, I was just thinking that if all of the opponents I'll encounter in this business are like those two, then I think I'll fit in just fine," replied Karel.

"Confident. You look young but the way you carry yourself is like a man who has seen battle countless times before," said Morgan. "Am I right?"

"More or less."

Neither said anything for a moment. Karel met Morgan's eyes and didn't look away, despite his uncertainty about what to do. Morgan smirked and stood up from the chair. "All right, you're in. Welcome to the company. Farah, could you have Clara show Karel to the spare room you have once he's ready?"

"Of course, Commander," replied Farah.

Karel wasn't quite sure he had heard the commander right. "That's it? Don't you want to test me, have me prove my worth in some way?"

Morgan chuckled. "For what reason? You're obviously skilled enough to join our ranks if you could defeat both Jagger and Zarakas single-handedly. The worth of a man is judged on the battlefield and if my men vouch for you, then I trust them enough to put my faith in you as well. Meeting you myself merely confirms what I've already heard." His eyes had an amused expression in them. "Is that acceptable?"

"Y-yes, sir," said Karel.

Morgan smiled and gave a nod to Farah. She made a head motion and Karel followed her back down to the dining area. He flopped down into a chair, relieved and elated that he had been accepted. He numbly lifted the spoon and took a bite of the stew. The food tasted as delicious as it smelled. He couldn't suppress the smile on his face as he dug into the meal properly. There was no longer any reason to resist the urge to dig in and he relished every bite.

* * *

_A/N: First, thanks to everyone who has read this far. I realize in the sea of Awakening fics this probably seems like something of a black sheep so I appreciate everyone who has taken time to read my story. If there is something that sticks out to you or that you particularly like or had issues with, please let me know. One of the big things I've been trying to focus on is making my characters feel relatable and distinct so hopefully that will be the case as the story progresses._

_I realize one thing that might be strange is why Karel would seem more "western" for a Sacaen, by which I mean he doesn't have a particularly strong emphasis upon spiritual beliefs or superstitious teachings. The way I envision Sacae creates something of a divide between the eastern plains and western plains. The eastern region near the mountains is envisioned as poorer compared to the central and western regions, i.e., closer to Lycia and Etruria. This was touched upon briefly by Chayton in last chapter. Survival in the area is much harder due to less livestock and poor crop conditions, thus it creates a culture more receptive to outsiders and the mercenary lifestyle Karel is accustomed to. Particularly within Karel's clan, there is almost no emphasis upon spiritual teaching, hence the lack of it in much of his life. The central and western regions where the three main tribes are located are more in line with the picture most people probably have of Sacae: wide open plains filled with lush green tall grass, plenty of wild game to hunt, and the more nomadic lifestyle along with the spiritual practices and beliefs we see in game. These elements will become more prominent as the story progresses (and may appear as early as next chapter)._

_There are still a few more characters to introduce and whatnot before we get into the real meat of this arc. Thankfully, the semester is pretty much over and I intend to put my freetime to very good use by working a lot on this story, so expect much quicker updates in the next few weeks. Thanks again and see you all next time.  
_


	6. Settling In

Chapter 5: Settling In

If Karel expected to be eased into his new life with the mercenary company, he was sorely mistaken. Not even a day after Morgan's welcome, he was thrust into his newest job. A man had been mugged in the backstreets of Bulgar and wanted two things: the return of his stolen possessions and the death of the "impudent thug." Karel wasn't exactly too happy about the job but came with the territory. He had worked pettier jobs than this one in his earlier years.

He wasn't particularly concerned with the job itself, but Karel was still completely unfamiliar with the backstreets and his way around Bulgar. He wasn't sure if Ko had picked up on this but he was very grateful when the nomad offered to help Karel on the job. The two took to the streets right away, hoping to have the job wrapped up by the end of the day.

As the two wandered around the various alleys and back roads, Karel tried to memorize as much of it as he could. Ko was constantly feeding him various bits of information but it all just got jumbled as he tried to sift through it all at once. Something about the cobble streets led to the dirt path that ran by the Oaken Pub and that if he took it he could cut across to the arena. Eventually he just fell into the habit of nodding while just trying to remember everything he saw.

Karel was grateful to Ko's assistance for another matter entirely: actually finding this thief. Beyond the location of where the man had been mugged, Karel was uncertain where to even begin searching in a city this size. When he expressed this concern to Ko, the nomad waved it off and told him not to worry. They'd have the guy in no time short, he assured him.

When they had arrived at the scene of the crime, there was nothing in the way of evidence. A couple of kids were hanging around nearby and Ko proceeded to greet them warmly. The group was initially quite cold, almost hostile but after Ko slipped a few gold coins into each of their palms, they warmed up to him instantly. After a brief exchange, Ko bade them a good day and returned to Karel.

"Did you learn anything?" asked Karel.

"Oh, quite a bit. Those kids were quite helpful once we started speaking the same language," replied Ko with a smile.

Karel glanced back and saw the kids had already disappeared. "The same language?"

Ko nodded. "In Bulgar, the language everyone understands is cold hard cash. Many of these back alley brats are more than willing to give out any information they have if you're willing to warm their palms with a bit of gold."

"And so we're supposed to take the word of some kids off the street as reliable?"

Ko shrugged. "I've been working in this city for long enough that I can tell the difference between those that actually know something and those that are just spouting crap. I'd bet double what I gave those kids that this information is good."

"If you insist," said Karel, still a little doubtful.

It was strange doing something he considered his profession for the past three years only to feel like a complete outsider. In the east, mercenary jobs were all handled via Hanks, who coordinated all requests and payments. What few jobs were available were contested hotly amongst clans and determined on a case-by-case basis. It was a surprisingly organized system compared to the chaotic mess of people he'd seen this morning. Employers clustered around boards pinning their requests or waited to meet with various mercenaries in person. Mercenaries haggled their employers for the best price they could get. Perhaps that was the biggest difference. Jobs were nowhere near as plentiful in the east as they were in this city. There were enough requests to fill a month of work and if Morgan's words were to be taken as truth, most of them would be filled by the end of the week.

The two crossed the main road and snaked their way through another set of alleys. The further they moved away from the cobblestone streets, the shabbier and decrepit the city became. The paved streets turned into uneven dirt roads The elegant shops and taverns were nowhere to be seen, replaced by dilapidated and crowded houses. The smell was abhorrent, almost as bad as the scent of decaying corpses. Karel realized that he might not be too far off on the source of the smell as they passed several people clad in rags that did little to hide their pathetically thin and malnourished bodies. He was surprised by how many different people he saw down here; some were clearly Sacaen but there were others that clearly hailed from other regions around Elibe.

Ko stopped him with an outstretched hand and pointed to a young man up ahead. He didn't seem any different from the others in his worn clothes and dirty red hair but Karel quickly saw what caught Ko's attention. In his hand was a finely crafted silver dagger, complete with gold filigree inlaid into the hilt.

"Told ya," whispered Ko into Karel's ear. "I'll double down a back alley and come up from behind. I'll leave it to you to take the front."

"Is that really necessary?" asked Karel. "He's just a kid."

"A kid that knows his way around these streets better than you," added Ko. Karel nodded, not seeing any point in denying what was painfully obvious. "Give me two minutes."

Ko double backed down the alley they came down and slipped off onto a side path. Karel tried to make himself inconspicuous; he was sure that his sword and robe stood out sharply with the shabby decorum of the area. The youth didn't seem to notice; he was too preoccupied by the weapon. A moment later, Karel saw a rustle of movement and a wave from Ko. He nodded and approached the boy. He got within ten paces when the kid looked up, his eyes widened, and he proceeded to bolt. He didn't get past the corner when Ko grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him off the ground. Karel removed the knife from his hand and patted him down, quickly finding the satchel of gold as well as a silver cross.

Ko set the kid down and let out a sigh. "Beat it, kid. And don't go around stealing from people again." Ko put his hand on his sword, causing the youth's eyes to widen. The kid didn't say anything but nodded vigorously before disappearing down the corner as quickly as he could.

"Is that wise to let him go?" asked Karel as he bagged the items.

"Don't worry about it. I know that guy said he wanted the kid dead, but there's no point in it," said Ko. "A kid like that isn't stealing because he wants to but because he has to. You saw how quick he panicked."

"So we tell our employer that the kid is pushing up flowers somewhere in a ditch right now?" asked Karel with an amused grin.

"Hey, as far as either of us is concerned, we did the job we were paid for," replied Ko with a wink.

When they returned to the tavern, their employer had been so thrilled to have his valuables back that he seemed to have completely forgotten about the request to have the thief put down. Karel was shocked when the man pressed a satchel with two hundred gold pieces into his hands and bade them a good day. He had never been paid so much for such a simple job in his life. He glanced over at Ko who simply shrugged and grinned, as though to say, "that's how it works here." Karel returned the gesture and pocketed the coins with a satisfied grin.

-x-

"Come on, Karel! It's just one drink! Surely you can manage just one."

"I'm fine, Carmine," repeated Karel for the third time testily.

Carmine gave her shoulder-length red hair a flick before kicking back in her chair and downing his entire mug in one prolonged drink. "I never thought it possible that I'd find a man who can't even enjoy a decent mug of ale here or there."

"Don't be too hard on the pup, Carmine," said Drake over his glass. "He's still young. Just give 'im some time ta warm up ta the stuff."

"Well he's not the only stiff in the joint," remarked Carmine as she glanced knowingly at the man sitting on his own at a table a bit further back. He had short pale green hair that only seemed to stand out more due to the dark leather tunic he wore. His eye flitted over to Carmine as he continued to whittle away at a piece of wood with his pocketknife.

"Remind me when mid-afternoon became the opportune time to get smashed," remarked the man with a smirk.

"Since when does the time of day actually matter, Gil?" shot back Carmine with a raised eyebrow.

"Feh, you certainly don't need an excuse," said Gil as he shook his head. "When you're passed out stone cold drunk on the floor, don't come begging to me for more cash just because you were too smashed to take any requests to feed yourself."

Carmine stood up indignantly before strolling right behind Karel. "Oh I wouldn't worry about that. Karel will help me out, right dear?" she said sweetly as she wrapped her arms around his neck and put her face right next to his.

Karel froze to his chair, clearly out of his element. "I would…rather not," he managed somewhat weakly. Drake chuckled at his compatriot's predicament.

"Give the kid a break, Carmine." Gil returned his attention to the wood in his hands and resumed his carving.

She pulled away and ruffled Karel's hair before taking her seat again. "It's not my fault he's fun to tease. Just look at how adorable he is like this."

Karel stood up and went upstairs, hoping to avoid focusing the conversation on him any more. "Look at that. Now you've gone and scared him off. So much for your feminine wiles getting you what you want," joked Gil from downstairs.

Karel shook his head. He didn't really mind their antics; if anything, after two months he was used to it. He headed for his room. He originally was put in a separate "room" on the lower level although it was so small it was almost unbearable. It wasn't so much a room as a storage space as far as he was concerned. After discovering him asleep on one of the chairs in the morning, Morgan had proposed he share a room with another of the mercenary members. He and his stiff back were grateful Ko had willingly volunteered.

He had just put his hand on the doorknob when he heard someone call out for him. "Karel, there you are." He turned around and saw Farah walking in his direction, a piece of parchment in her hand.

"New job for me, Farah?"

"For both of us actually," she said. "The Commander needs us to clean up a bunch of mercenaries turned bandits that are causing trouble for some local villages to the east. It's a small group from the sound of things."

Karel leaned with his back against the wall. "How many are we talking?"

"Ten at most."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Sounds simple enough to me."

Farah shook her head. "That cocky attitude of yours is going to give us trouble one of these days."

"Cocky implies that I'm overconfident. I'm only confident," clarified Karel.

"You really need to get that ego checked," muttered Farah as she folded up the request. "We'll be leaving tomorrow morning so be ready."

"Don't worry, I'll be there." Karel watched as she went downstairs before deciding to retire early tonight. The last thing he wanted was to wake up to the shock of a Thunder tome like Ko had one morning. His ears still rang from that incident.

-x-

Karel doubled back through the tall grass, creeping stealthily through it so as not to cause any noticeable signs. To the casual passerby, the grass seemed to be moving as it would because of a gentle breeze. He emerged on the other side where he saw Farah sitting patiently on a convenient boulder.

"What did you see?" she asked.

"They've got a camp set up near the top of that hill. They've got at least one or two men patrolling the perimeter. To my eyes, I'd say we're dealing with eight men."

Farah nodded as she put her hand to her chin in thought. "The hill will make any sort of surprise attack negligible. They'll be able to see us coming as the grass thins at which point the odds turn in their favor." Farah stood up and wiped the dust from her pants. "We'll go with a strategy similar to what we used to face Zarakas. I'll send off a couple fireballs into the camp to stir up confusion. You use the distraction to take out the patrol before we both move in to finish them off."

"All right."

Karel dashed off to the left while Farah went off to the right. If everything went according to Farah's plan, then they should be able to finish this up and be back in time for dinner..

In the sunny afternoon, it almost just looked like a trick of the light, at least until the three fireballs slammed into two of the tents, immediately setting the camp aflame. There were shouts and roars as the men tried to put out the fire and figure out their attacker. Karel seized the opportunity and dashed up the hill and pierced the first sentry through the heart. The man was dead before he hit the ground. He spun around behind a tent and cut across a portion of the camp before dropping down upon the other patrol. The man saw Karel and raised his weapon only for his arm to be cut clean off before Karel silenced him for good with a thrust through the throat.

The other brigands still hadn't noticed him. Karel saw another fireball launch from a different location and strike a tent. He smirked as the men drew closer, trying to determine where their attacker was hiding. Karel emerged from behind the one tent that wasn't on fire and stabbed the first man through the heart from behind before spinning around and slicing through the second man's stomach. Now he had their attention. Two more men charged at him. He back stepped away from the first slash before deflecting the second's thrust. Karel ran in close only to dodge a second thrust from the first attacker. Karel smoothly backed away as the brigand stabbed his comrade through the heart. Taking advantage of his surprise, Karel ended the man's life with a single slash. He heard two small explosions accompanied by screams amidst the smoke.

The camp had gone deathly quiet save for the sound of the crackling flames. He saw a figure approaching through the smoke but lowered his guard when he saw it was Farah. She covered her mouth with her scarf as she joined him.

"Is that all of them?" she asked.

"I haven't come across any others," replied Karel. "I thought there were eight but I haven't seen any others." He turned and smirked. "And you thought this job was going to be a problem."

Farah glared at him, her voice completely calm when she spoke. "Why do you think it was so easy? We go the drop on them and they fell right into our trap."

Karel flicked the blood off his sword and sheathed the Killing Edge. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

He suddenly felt Farah push him aside just in time for a fireball to narrowly miss his face. The attack narrowly passed between them. Karel's sword was immediately out and Farah had her tome firmly held in her left hand. Karel glanced around and saw that they were surrounded by at least ten men, most armed with worn iron swords with the exception of a man wearing a red cape and holding a tome in his hand.

"So, what was that about us getting the drop on them?" quipped Karel as he and Farah pressed their backs together.

"Is this really the time for that? More importantly, where did all these men come from? I thought there were only supposed to be ten bandits at most," said Farah.

"I wonder if the men here were 'recruits' from the local villages. From the way they acted, they were just a jumbled mess and most of them couldn't even use a sword properly. They were complete amateurs," remarked Karel.

"So they were simply holding down the camp until the real brigands returned," said Farah. "And now we're completely surrounded by a bunch of men who look hell bent on revenge."

"To be fair, you did kind of torch their campsite," offered Karel.

"Just whose side are you on?"

"You're the one that's always complaining that I need to be more observant of things. I thought you'd be happy."

"We need a plan but they aren't going to give us the luxury of time on this one," said Farah through grit teeth.

"Good thing I've got one then," replied Karel with a grin. The swordsmen were less than ten paces away from the two. The circle was rapidly constricting around them.

"Why am I filled with this unexplainable sense of dread?" shot back Farah, a faint grin on her face.

The circle broke as the nine men attacked at once. Karel reacted immediately, deflecting three of the swords with one slash before pulling Farah behind him to parry a thrust that would have taken her life. Farah ducked under a slash before releasing a fireball at point blank range into the assailant's chest, almost burning a hole through his body. Karel deflected another blade before spinning around and slashing through two of the attackers' muscular necks with his blade. The two regrouped back to back just as Farah fired off another spell, this time smiting a foe with a blast to the face.

Karel deflected another thrust before flipping over Farah's shoulders and in front of her. He slid under the incoming horizontal slash and ripped his blade up from the man's hip to his opposite shoulder while Farah blasted another attacker with a fireball. They were down to three men. Karel seized the opportunity and charged them. He sidestepped the thrust, slipped under the slash, and spun around the chop before slicing one man's belly open and thrusting his sword into the neck of another. Before the other could react, a fireball blew off half his face.

Karel turned to give the okay to Farah when suddenly a fireball struck his left shoulder. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils. The minute he hit the ground he rolled to the side to avoid the next incoming blast. He quickly righted himself and saw that Farah was already in a fight with the enemy mage. The two were trading fire blasts back and forth in something akin to a dance. The two continued to dodge or nullify the other's attacks without making any serious headway.

Suddenly the enemy pointed to the sky and then to Farah. The blue bolt of magical energy morphed into a fireball twice as big as the early one. The attack struck the ground with a mighty explosion, sending up a huge cloud of smoke along with it. The mage smiled, convinced he had destroyed his foe. Suddenly a fireball shot forth from the smoke and struck the mage directly in the chest, sending him flying back into the rubble. The smoke cleared to reveal Farah was fine short of some soot and a few small burns, mostly along her arms. The man forced himself to stand and prepared his counterattack but suddenly froze in place. He glanced down and saw a blade as red of his blood protruding from his chest.

"That's for my shoulder," growled Karel as he withdrew the blade with a flourish. He flicked the blood off and returned it to its sheath. He looked over at Farah and grinned. "Well, that could have gone a lot better, couldn't it?"

"For one of your plans, it wasn't half bad," remarked Farah with a small laugh as she adjusted the red scarf to rest around her neck. She reached into the inner pocket of her cloak and threw a bottle that Karel caught with his right hand. "Drink that. It should help heal most of the damage from the attack."

Karel did as he was told and nearly wanted to throw up as soon as the fluid hit his tongue. The stuff tasted awful but he forced himself to swallow. Almost immediately he could feel the pain in his shoulder subside, leaving only a dull, stiff ache where the burn had been. "These things work so well it makes me wish the outpost my clan worked out of carried these things."

"You really lived out in the middle of nowhere, didn't you?" Farah had an amused expression on her face. "Any mercenary worth his salt keeps a vulnerary on hand. Even if the wound is minor, the last thing you want is for it to get infected."

"So what do you call a mercenary that has done well enough to get by without a vulnerary for most of his life?" asked Karel.

"Lucky," replied Farah without missing a beat. Karel crossed his arms and gave her a flat look. She finished cleaning off the soot from her arms and face and finished off the vulnerary she handed him earlier. "We should get going if we want to make it back before sundown."

"Right behind you, Boss," said Karel as he stepped over the corpses. He stopped when he saw the face of one of them. The guy couldn't have been older than him. He couldn't help but wonder if the deceased youth had joined up with the men in hopes of fame and wealth or if it was something more personal. He almost felt a pang of regret for cutting the boy down but the reality of the situation quickly quelled that feeling.

"Coming?" called Farah.

"Yeah," replied Karel as he joined her.

Farah glanced back to where he had been a moment ago. "Something catch your attention?"

"It's nothing. Just a passing thought," said Karel simply.

Farah looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. Obviously she wasn't going to buy his attempt to brush off her question. It was something that had become more commonplace between the two than he sometimes liked. "Clearly, otherwise you wouldn't be giving me the cold shoulder right now."

"You're one to talk," said Karel. "You didn't talk to me for a week after I joined because you considered me a 'suspicious character.'"

Following Morgan's decision, Karel's entry into the mercenary company had been relatively easy. Even Carmine and Gil had welcomed him as a fellow co-worker. Farah however, had been another story. She seemed to make a point of avoiding him and only spoke to him when necessary. Frankly, he didn't care. He figured he would rub certain people the wrong way but as long as it didn't interfere with his job, it didn't matter. There were a number of jobs he had in the first week and the commander believed it would be best if he continued to work with Farah, Ko, and Drake since it seemed to work on the job with Zarakas.

Unfortunately, reality could not have been farther from the truth. Farah was a diligent and practiced strategist who made sure she kept a cool and level head in battle. Karel was a determined and confident swordsman who relished the rush of a good fight. Putting the two together was like trying to mix oil and water. The two frequently disagreed about how best to handle a situation and in the midst of battle, Karel frequently followed his instincts rather than follow her orders. Soon both were avoiding each other every given minute, even using the other mercenaries as a means of communicating with each other.

It finally came to a head on the seventh day when Morgan gave the four a job escorting a caravan along a dangerous road. Farah flat out refused the job as long as Karel was attached to the team. She didn't understand how the commander could trust a suspicious character like him. Naturally, Karel said he would prefer to be left out since she just got in the way and didn't really understand how to fight. The argument reached a very audible climax when Morgan finally intervened and forced the two to take the job on their own, without Ko or Drake to help them.

Grudgingly the two had taken on the task and what seemed like a simple escort had turned into a full-fledged ambush. It was in the heat of that battle that it seemed both sides finally reconciled with each other. Farah was saved initially thanks to Karel's quick instincts but it was only by implementing her plan that they were able to drive the bandits away. From then on, the two still got into arguments, but there was a new mutual understanding and blossoming trust between the two.

"A guy who got lost just happened to show up at the very site of our bounty and to top it off, was skilled enough to defeat the mark in one strike. What about that doesn't seem suspicious?" defended Farah.

"I'd really rather we just move past that whole 'me getting lost' thing," sighed Karel. When Ko "accidentally" let it slip that he had no sense of direction, the entire room burst into laughter. Morgan had taken it upon himself to personally teach Karel how to read a map and how to quickly determine the four compass directions from his surrounding just in case it should happen again. To his credit, Karel had not gotten lost on a mission since, but that didn't stop Ko or the others from teasing him about, particularly if he was looking for a certain item.

"I'll consider it," said Farah. She had a sly smile on her face, which worried him. "How about we make a deal?"

"A deal?" repeated Karel. What would she possibly want that he had to offer? She made more money than he did on their jobs and the only real item of value he had was his Killing Edge.

Farah crossed her arms, a confident smile on her face. "I'll get everyone to stop teasing you about your sense of direction if you teach me how to use a sword."

He blinked. She wanted him to teach her? "Why?"

She began to pace in a circle around him, her right hand raised as though she were making a point in a discussion. "One of the necessary disciplines of any tactician is understanding how each weapon works in combat. The quickest and best method for acquiring such knowledge is to learn how to use the weapon personally."

Karel scratched his head, still a little confused. "Yeah, but you use magic, don't you?"

Farah shook her head and sighed. "Didn't you hear me? In order for me to continue growing as a strategist and as combatant, I need to learn about fields other than those I'm already proficient in."

"That makes sense, I guess," said Karel slowly. "But why me?"

Farah put her hand to her chin. "Because you're the best at it. Ko taught me how to use a bow, Gil a lance, Drake an axe, and the Commander oversees my studies in magic in tactics. It just makes sense that if there's anyone that should teach me about the sword, it should be the guy who's best at it."

"And here I thought tacticians only cared about strategy," muttered Karel.

"Well, it's the most obvious part of the job, but seeing as we're often on the battlefield leading the troops, we have to be able to at least defend ourselves, otherwise we're just a liability. Whenever the commander goes into battle he always carries a tome and sword."

"The commander fights?" repeated Karel incredulously. While it made sense since it was a mercenary company, it seemed hard to believe. Usually all he saw the commander do battle with was mountains of paperwork and the local peddlers and employers.

"He doesn't often since he's the head of the company but he'll still take jobs, usually on his own," explained Farah. "Anyway, enough dancing around the topic. Do we have a deal?"

"I don't know how good of a teacher I'll be, but sure," answered Karel. The two shook hands on the matter and resumed their trip back to Bulgar. When they returned, Morgan stopped Karel to inform him that he was going to train Farah in swordplay. Ko said it was the same for all of them; the commander made sure that she learned from each of them. Karel shook his head and sighed upon realizing she had tricked him into training her of his own volition. Somehow she always managed to get the last laugh.

-x-

He removed his blade from the last man and flicked the blood from it before returning it to its sheath. It had almost been a year since he had joined the company now. He looked around and saw Gil and Carmine searching the area for any stragglers while Ko and Farah searched for the requested item. It was hard to believe there was a time when all of this felt almost foreign to him. It all seemed so long ago now, just like the memories he had of the clan.

How was Karla? If there was one thing he had known he was going to miss, it was the company of his little sister. He could still remember her crying face as he left that night. Often on clear starry nights, he would lie awake and look up at the sky, wondering what happened since he left. Was Karla married off to one of the other clans? What had become of his father in his absence? Had one of his brothers been named the successor to the Wo Dao?

Many a night he reprimanded himself. He shouldn't be thinking about such things. Wasn't that the whole reason he had joined the company in the first place, to escape from that restrictive life? What did he care of his father's actions or who inherited the clan treasure? There was nothing there for him anymore, at least, almost nothing. He still remembered his promise to Karla. There were many times where he fantasized going back to the clan and taking her with him but he could never bring himself to do it.

He saw the others giving him the signal to head out. He dismissed the thoughts from his head and started the trip back to Bulgar. Even if it had only been eleven months, there was no doubt in his mind.

This was his home now.

_A/N: This chapter mostly served to transition Karel smoothly into the mercenary company. It also introduces the two other members of the company, Carmine and Gil. Things are going to start picking up the pace in the next few chapters. Thanks again for everyone who has taken the time to read and if you have any comments or criticisms, any feedback is appreciated. _


	7. Sparks

Chapter 6: Sparks

(A/N: This is a fairly long chapter. You have been warned.)

His eyes snapped open as he sat up with a start. His breathing was heavy and his clothes stuck to his sweat slicked body like a second skin. Outside, the cicadas filled the quiet evening air with their distinctive chirp. Any other night he would have cursed the infernal bugs for keeping him awake but tonight he was grateful for their company. He allowed his mind to focus upon the noise and could feel his labored breathing relax. The wood frame of the bed creaked as he flung himself back upon the mattress.

He closed his eyes and tried to let the sound of the cicadas lull him to sleep but it was no good. Even though his body cried out for rest, his mind remained adamantly awake. After a few minutes, his mind won out. He threw the covers aside and threw on his robe, not bothering to tie it. Ko's soft snoring was almost drowned out by the cicadas. Silently, he shut the door behind him and took the stairs leading to the roof. As he closed the latch door, he could feel a cool but refreshing breeze dry the sweat still on his forehead.

"Couldn't sleep, lad?" He spun around almost instantly, his hand going to his side for his sword only to dumbly grasp at air. His grizzled guest let out a laugh and he shared a laugh.

"No," he said, a faint grin still present. "What are you doing up here at this hour, Drake?" The crusty warrior moved over to the side to make room for him.

"Seems more like my question," he said with a small chuckle.

"Hey, I asked first," said Karel.

"I was up 'ere first," countered Drake. The old man smiled. It was simple, gentle even. In all his time with the company, he had never once seen Drake smile like that. The old man seemed born with a permanent scowl on his face, something Ko used to joke about, claiming it was a natural social deterrent. His smile now though was different than any sort of smirk or victory grin. It was just content.

"Ah, ta hell with it. I was just catchin' up with some ol' friends." His gaze drifted towards the clear, starry night sky. He didn't need to look to know Karel was confused. "I'm talkin' 'bout the stars, lad."

"The stars?" repeated Karel.

"Aye, lad." He let out a soft sigh. "Lands change, currents change, but the sky is the one thing that always stays the same. Even after thirty years I still look up and see the same stars I grew up with."

Drake reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a worn canteen. He took a long gulp and offered it to Karel. As soon as the liquid hit his throat, his eyes widened as he started to gag and cough. He felt a hard slap to the back accompanied by a laugh.

"Yer still too young, lad. Give it time. One day you'll be a man who can hold his liquor."

"You and Carmine keep telling yourselves that, because I don't see that day coming anytime soon," said Karel as he tried to cough up the last of the infernal liquid. His tongue felt thick, unlike when he had tried the tavern's ale in the past. "What is this stuff?"

"An old liquor from the Western Isles. Ya don't see much 'o the stuff in these parts. 'Ere the stuff's all tame as a newborn pup." Drake took another swig. He gave the canteen a shake but frowned when he realized there was nothing left. "Ah, it was good while it lasted."

"Is that where you're from? The Western Isles?" There was a pregnant silence between the two. Drake took a moment to affix the cap to his canteen and pocketed the item.

"Aye," he said, his voice soft yet still carrying his distinctive guttural tone. "Been years since me feet touched the shores. I 'aven't even seen the sea in almost ten years now," said Drake, the disappointment clear in his voice. "I miss the smell of the sea, the taste of the salt in yer mouth."

Karel had heard stories of the sea. Supposedly it was a vast body of water, one that went on seemingly forever. His uncle claimed to have sailed upon it at one point but didn't say much other than he vowed to never set foot on a boat again after his experience. Something about how he spent half his time keeled over one side of the ship.

"Taste of salt?" asked Karel with a quizzical expression.

"Ne'er been on the sea, lad?" asked Drake with a grin. Karel shook his head. "The sea ain't made of normal water. The stuff looks clear and pure as the water ya drink but it tastes like yer drinkin' salt."

"That seems crazy. Can you even drink it?"

Drake let out a hardy laugh. "Only a daft fool'd drink seawater. Stuff makes ya thirstier than ya were before." Drake looked back up at the sky. "Just one o' the many things ya need to know to be a sailor."

Karel looked up at the sky as well. It was incredibly clear and the new moon only served to make the stars shine brighter, almost like crystals upon a black tapestry. He saw Drake point up towards a cluster of stars.

"Ya see those, lad? That's Arganon. He always points ya to the north. Over there is the serpent Leviathan. If ya see him, s'pposed ta be a good omen, means you'll have a safe voyage 'cause 'e'll be watchin' over ya." Drake continued for a few minutes longer, pointing out all the various constellations and stars along with their names and meanings. It was something Karel had never pondered much during his time at the camp. Not even his uncle, the man who had traveled the world, could offer any insight into them.

"Well, lad, I've shared my bit. Now it's yer turn," said Drake with a wolfish grin. "What's riled yer sails at this hour?"

Karel's faint grin sobered up to a neutral expression quickly. "A bad dream. Nightmare is probably way to put it."

"Aye, that'll do it."

Karel leaned his head back to rest against the wooden boards. "It's been so long since I had that dream that I thought maybe it had finally left me for good. Guess I was wrong."

"So what was it? Didja get eaten?" asked Drake.

"Huh?" Karel blinked and looked at Drake with an incredulous expression. "Eaten?"

"Ya know, by some giant monstrosity, be it a serpent or a chicken. Those are always my worse nightmares," said Drake as he shook his head. The old sailor let out a sigh. Karel bit his lower lip in an attempt not to laugh.

"I wish it was something as simple as that. I just wonder why it came back now of all times," said Karel.

"There's an oldwives tale in Caledonia that dreams are yer brain's way o' remindin' ya o' the important things. May be the same with ya," suggested Drake.

Karel slowly nodded. "Ah, perhaps you're right." It may not be so far from the truth as he pondered Drake's words. He had gotten so caught up in adjusting to his new life and freedom that he had almost forgotten the most important reason he had left the clan in the first place. As he looked back up at the sky he could feel his eyes growing heavy with sleep. He stood up and stretched as he let out a loud yawn.

"I think I'm going to turn in for the night. Thanks for the talk, Drake. Somehow talking about nightmares where you get eaten helped," added Karel cajolingly. Drake dismissed the last comment with a wave of his hand.

"Aye, same to you, lad. If yer ever troubled again, ya can always find me here," said Drake with a grin.

Karel returned the gesture and returned to his room. As soon as his head hit the pillow he could feel sleep take him. He didn't wake up for the rest of the night.

-x-

When Karel reached the bottom of the steps the next morning, he was surprised to see the entire company sitting at the various tables. Farah was actively discussing something with Carmine while Ko and Drake lazily played a game of cards, their attention only half upon it. Gil sat at his own table, focused upon the piece of wood he whittled away. Ko motioned for Karel to join them when he saw the perplexed swordsman standing awkwardly at the base of the steps.

"Did I miss something?" asked Karel as he sat down. He had slept much later than usual and the last thing he wanted was trouble as a consequence.

Ko threw another card from his hand onto the ever-growing pile. "Not sure myself, mate. We all got back from personal business when Farah said that all of us needed to wait for the boss's instructions." He leaned back and took a drink from his mug. "Probably for a big job or something."

"Prolly," replied Drake. "The last time he had us all here, it was fer a company job. Wouldn't be surprised ta find it's the same deal here."

"This is new," said Karel, feeling somewhat out of place given how comfortable everyone else seemed.

"There aren't too many jobs that require the whole company. Besides, most of us prefer to work on our own or in smaller groups if we can. Occasionally though, there's the job we just can't turn down and we work together to see it through," explained Ko.

Karel glanced around the room. "So where exactly is the Commander then?"

Ko shrugged. "Can't say I know, mate. According to Farah, our illustrious leader sent her ahead to gather everyone for when he returned."

Drake chuckled. "Just take a seat and play a hand. He'll get 'ere when he gets 'ere."

Karel only nodded. He could feel anticipation well up inside him. In his year with the company, he had never been on a job where the entire company was needed. More of interest to him though was the chance to finally see the Commander in action. He had heard nothing but rumors about Morgan's skills and was eager to see what was truth and what was fiction. According to Ko the man could conjure fire out of thin air and to devastating effect.

Ko and Drake shuffled and were about to deal the next hand when the door swung open and Morgan stepped in, clad in his navy blue cloak and black leather boots, and avidly talking with another man Karel had never seen before. He wore a cuirass and set of gauntlets both made of quality black leather. He had a hand and a half broadsword at his waist and wore a red traveling cloak. He had a wide and energetic smile, apparently much to the chagrin of Morgan who was clearly resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Good, everyone's here. Let's get to the matter at hand then," said Morgan after a quick scan of the room. Morgan produced a letter from his breast pocket emblazoned with an ornate seal upon it. "We have a special request, courtesy of Lord Dalton, Count of Clayborne, of Etruria."

Everyone perked up immediately. Even Gil stopped to look up upon hearing who their employer was. Ko let out a low whistle. "A count? Sounds like things are finally looking up."

Morgan waited for the room to quiet down before continuing. "Lord Dalton is particularly influential in Sacae. He is one of the heads of the Etrurian Merchants' Guild and oversees much of the mercantile activity in Sacae and Bern. He has requested our aid in dealing with a matter that concerns not just him but the merchants' guild in general." Morgan cleared his throat.

"Of late, a new merchants' guild called Fortune's Arc has been expanding in Bulgar and Sacae. In fact, they have been growing at such a pace that it is entirely possible that in the next few years they could rival the Etrurian Guild."

"So what, they want us to drive their competitors out of town?" asked Gil.

"You're not too far off actually." Morgan turned to their guest. "The floor is yours, William."

William smiled and stepped forth. "Good day everyone. I know most of you probably recognize me but for those who I have not met, I am William Cartwright, a colonel in Lord Dalton's personal forces."

Karel glanced around and most everyone seemed completely at ease around William, something that struck him as unusual since most of them were generally quite attentive around their employers. Just how was everyone in the company so familiar with William, especially considering he was the colonel in a count's army? It just seemed out of place for a company that normally handled pretty low-level work.

William placed his hands behind his back. "To answer Gilder's question, we believe that Fortune's Arc is engaging in illegal activity and we need to bring this to light before the Guild Union. Fortune's Arc has been growing at an alarmingly fast rate for a guild that has only been around for three years. The Etrurian Merchants' Guild is convinced that this sudden and rapid growth of wealth is the result of a smuggling operation."

Morgan stepped forth and opened up the letter. "This is a letter from Lord Dalton. He explains that this matter is of particular concern since the smuggled goods are Etrurian weapons that are in turn being sold to the Bernese at a premium. Trade of weapons requires both guild consent and the payment of a stiff duty regulated by the Crown. Lord Dalton assures us that neither prerequisite has been cleared."

"What do they want us to do about it then?" asked Carmine. "Raid a caravan or something for proof? If that's the case, why doesn't the count use his own men instead of hiring us?"

"The problem is Lord Dalton has no proof," explained William. "While the trends strongly indicate a smuggling operation, he has no formal proof and without it, the Guild Union can't take any action against Fortune's Arc. If His Lordship sends in his troops, Fortune's Arc will immediately cover everything up and they'll be stuck without even a shred of evidence."

"In other words, they're hiring us as covert soldiers," said Farah. "We'll find the evidence of the smuggling operation and then get out before things get bad."

Morgan nodded. "Precisely."

"That's fine and all, but how are we going to get the proof?" asked Gil. "If Fortune's Arc is an Etrurian guild, isn't that kind of out of our control?"

Morgan shook his head. "No. Fortune's Arc has a large trade house based here in Bulgar. Lord Dalton has stated he is confident the proof is here, implying he may have already searched the headquarters in Aquelia."

Ko suddenly snapped his fingers as his eyes lit up with realization. "I know why I've heard about this group before. Fortune's Arc is the group claiming to be in possession of the Wo Dao that's been causing the ruckus around town."

Karel's ears perked up immediately at that. While he supposed it made sense that there could be more than one Wo Dao, it had never crossed his mind until now. He wondered if the blade was anything like the one guarded by his clan.

"Exactly, which gives us a prime opportunity," said Morgan. "We know they plan to auction off the weapon by tomorrow before their caravan continues on its trek to Bern."

"That doesn't give us a lot of time," said Farah.

William nodded as he crossed his arms. "I apologize for this but we cannot simply ignore an opportunity like this. This job has two objectives. First, we need to acquire proof of the smuggling operation. Second, Lord Dalton has requested that you put a stop to the current operation."

"You mean he wants us to stop the trade caravan from leaving Bulgar?" asked Gil.

William nodded. "More or less. His Lordship doesn't particularly care how you do it as long as the caravan never reaches Bern."

"Is it really necessary?" asked Karel. "If we find the proof, won't that stop the operation right there?"

"Yeah, wouldn't that cause problems?" asked Ko. "I'm pretty sure they're going to know someone hired us and they'd likely figure out it's some other guild like the one the count belongs to."

William nodded his head. "Both of you raise valid points. Ordinarily I'd agree with you, but according to milord, the losses are significant enough that he wants the shipment put under before it can do any more harm to him or the guild."

"Is this wise?" asked Farah. "If word gets out we did this, we could take a pretty big blow to our reputation. No one wants to hire a mercenary that turned against a former employer."

"Lord Dalton has promised to support us completely in this, including vouching for us before the council if it comes to that," said Morgan, much to everyone's shock. "Furthermore, I believe we can easily formulate a plan to take care of the trade caravan without endangering ourselves."

No one said anything for a moment. After a moment Ko broke the silence. "Well, if that's the case, then I say let's do it."

There were murmurs of ascent from the rest of the company and nodding heads. Karel's thoughts continued to drift to the rumors of the Wo Dao. Even if it was all grandstanding for their operation, he couldn't help but wonder if the sword was actually real or not.

Gil leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table. "Ko, you said it's that Wo Dao thing causing all the craziness out there, right? You'd think a festival came to town the way people are acting out there. Just what's so special about the thing anyway?"

Ko chuckled. "Not surprised you don't understand, since you're not from Sacae. Let me put it this way, the story of the Ten Swords and the Wo Dao is almost as famous as the tales of Hanon the Horseman and the twins Sol and Luna."

"So are they just well-crafted weapons?" asked Carmine.

"Well-crafted is something of an insult to them," joked Ko with a laugh.

"Then stop beatin' around the bush and cut to point, lad," said Drake. "Just what's the story behind the things?"

"All right, all right." Ko took a deep breath. "There are ten real Wo Dao, all forged by the master smith from which they derive their name. The swords were crafted centuries ago, back when the three tribes were in the midst of a great war. According to the story, Bern and Etruria were going to invade and split Sacae once the power struggle was over. Ten skilled swordsmen sought to end the fighting and repel the invading armies. Wo Dao forged a sword for each of them, hence the name of the Ten Swords."

Ko took a long drink from his mug and cleared his throat. "Armed with the master forges, the Ten Swords managed to force the three tribes to put an end to their fighting and unite for the first time since the Scouring to drive away Bern and Etruria. The ten swords then departed, each to establish their clans and pass on the legacy of their swordsmanship and the Wo Dao each had been entrusted."

Ko leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh. "Is that it?" asked Gil.

Ko glanced over the rim of his mug with a look of annoyance. "Well, I can't recite the whole ballad. The entire thing would have us here for hours. The damn thing goes into detail about the lives and legacies of each of the ten swords. This is the short version," countered Ko. "The point is this; those swords are valuable both for their legendary history but also for being considered the ten finest forged swords in Elibe, short of perhaps the Divine Weapons."

"In other words, the streets are filled with a bunch of delusional swordsmen clamoring for a blade they think will make them invincible," said Carmine. "I don't know if I can deal with that many thick men in one day."

"Did the swords remain in the clans following the war?" asked Morgan, quieting everyone down quickly.

Ko held up his hands and shrugged. "Immediately after, yes. Now, not so much. I've heard that many of the clans were absorbed into the three tribes and their Wo Daos along with them. There's always the possibility of a few out there, either still in their clan or just on the market. No one has ever found Ahktah the Lightning Flash's sword for instance."

"Ahktah the Lightning Flash?" repeated Gil with a chuckle.

"Not like Lycia's any different with how you glorify your knights," countered Carmine.

"No, but usually it's Eldrich the Bold."

"Or Tyrin the Bravehearted Dragonslayer and Conqueror of Kingdoms," pronounced Carmine as dramatically as possible, causing everyone but Gil to laugh.

"Better than Ahktah the Lightning Flash," muttered Gil.

"Was the title a reference to his swordsmanship?" asked Karel as his mirth died down.

Ko rolled his eyes at Gil, who was still chuckling, and nodded. "Ahktah was supposedly the fastest swordsman of the ten. He was famous for assassinating the Wyvern General of Bern in broad daylight in front of seven officers without anyone seeing him draw his sword."

"Is that a bit of hero worship I'm hearing?" teased Carmine.

Ko's smile morphed into a frown. "Not in the slightest. But seeing as I grew up in Sacae, it's only natural that I'd know the stories."

"Have you heard these stories, Karel?" asked Carmine. He shook his head. She looked back to Ko as though to say "and?"

"He's from the far eastern plains," pointed out Ko, his voice getting louder. "No offense mate, but you guys are kind of out in the middle of nowhere."

"None taken," replied Karel with a small grin.

"So," said Carmine as she looped an arm around Ko's neck and smiled seductively. "Who was your favorite of the ten?"

Ko struggled to untangle himself from Carmine as he became noticeably more agitated. "Do I look like a kid to you?"

"So you did have one," said Carmine smugly.

"I never said that."

"You never denied it either," Farah pointed out, a playful grin upon her face. Ko let out a sigh. He looked over to where Morgan was and saw he was apparently in a deep conversation with Drake and William. He looked back to Carmine; her smile seemed to be growing wider. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"Not on your life."

Ko sighed again. "Of the ten, I always admired Morgel, the Lord of the Wind."

"Master of summer breezes and rustling grass," teased Carmine.

"Haha. You're a riot, Carmine," shot back Ko with a deadpan expression. "Morgel was probably the most famous of the Ten. According to the legends, he could command the winds of Sacae with his blade. One of the most famous parts of the ballad details how he commanded the winds to blow back the Etrurian forces all the way to their border."

Karel listened intently to every word. He never dreamed the blades had such a rich history. It certainly explained a lot about his clan's almost religious treatment of the Wo Dao. A blade that valuable and with that kind of legacy almost demanded it. He couldn't help but wonder about the part of the ballad concerning the Daodin Clan. There was a strong temptation to ask, however, he chose to not give it a voice.

"Controlled the wind? How silly can you get?" remarked Gil.

"Hey, I didn't make the story, I just shared it," said Ko. "Besides, who can say? The Morgel Clan supposedly disappeared years ago and no one has seen the Wo Dao, called Blue Wind, since."

The sound of clapping hands called all their attention back to Morgan. "Back to the task at hand. We have until tomorrow to find our evidence and crash a trade caravan. From what William has informed me, breaking into the trade house is going to be nigh impossible right now. Security has been bumped up due to an increase in people trying to break in to steal the Wo Dao." Gil rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Given that they will depart almost immediately after selling the blade, our best opportunity to sneak into the house will be when the caravan departs."

"That's a pretty small window to do this," said Ko.

"Indeed. We're going to split our forces for this as well. Carmine, Gil and myself will handle the trade house. The rest of you will be responsible for stopping that trade caravan. We need to know exactly what we are up against tomorrow. Therefore, I want the assault team to investigate the area around the house and the marketplace where the auction is being held. We need to know the numbers and types of opponents we'll be dealing with. We'll regroup tonight to discuss the plan in further detail tomorrow. Is everyone clear?"

"Yes, Commander!" responded the company in unison.

"Good, now let's get to work," said Morgan with a smile.

-x-

To say the marketplace was packed would have been an understatement. He had never seen so many people crammed into a single space at once. Some of the shop carts had been forced to move their business elsewhere out of fear that the clamoring masses would destroy it. Karel and Farah watched the spectacle with a mixture of fascination and horror.

Karel made a gesture towards the crowd. "Ladies first."

"Because every lady wants to be pressed up against a horde of sweaty men," replied Farah sarcastically. "Besides, a real gentleman would clear the way for the lady."

"You're in Sacae. I think you may be looking in the wrong place," replied Karel. He let out a sigh. "Gil wasn't too far off when he called this crazy. I didn't think Bulgar even had this many people."

Farah nodded in agreement. "I don't see how we're going to get much useful information when we can't even get in close enough to see anything." Her ice blue eyes scanned over the crowd of men. "Fortune's Arc must be circulating the news of this over a much larger area than just Bulgar."

"What makes you say that?"

"Take a look at some of those people." Farah motioned to a group of men with long dark green hair pulled back into a braid. Each wore a traditional Sacaen robe and carried a curved sword at their waist. "The braided hair is common among young men from the Kutolah and the Djute. Normally both tribes are nowhere near Bulgar this time of year. They stay in the northern regions of the plains where the game is more common."

Karel leaned up and tried to look over the crowd in hopes of seeing just what had caused the place to become packed so tight but to no avail. "I suppose even they can't resist the lure of the sword. Can't say I blame them. Even if the rumor turns out to be false, what if it is true?"

"You sound surprisingly optimistic. Do you think they actually have one of the legendary Wo Dao?" said Farah with particular emphasis upon legendary. Karel glanced over and saw she had an amused grin on her face.

"You don't believe the legends about the Ten Swords, do you?"

Farah turned her attention back to the crowd, not answering his question immediately. "I've heard the stories. I don't doubt the existence of the Wo Daos. Still, how can any person believe in the stories of a man who could command the winds of Sacae with his sword for instance? It just seems to fantastic to be true."

"Is it really any different with the Divine Weapons or the Scouring?" pointed out Karel.

Farah seemed to think about this and then nodded. "You have a point. Still, I think those have a bit more credence because of the number of legends and artifacts surrounding them."

"The stories about the Wo Dao are true," said Karel firmly. "I would stake my life on it."

Farah's amused expression was replaced by curiosity. "You're surprisingly confident for someone who had only heard those stories for the first time this morning."

Karel didn't answer. Since his arrival in Bulgar, he had never divulged his last name to anyone. Initially, it was simply because there had been no real reason. No one had ever asked and it never seemed relevant. Now though, in the midst of this Wo Dao frenzy, he had no desire to throw more fuel on the fire by suddenly revealing that he was from the Daodin Clan, one of the very clans of legend.

"Just call it a hunch," said Karel finally. When Farah looked like she was about to press further, he gave her a look that said "drop it."

"Even with the knowledge that the Wo Dao is going to be auctioned here tomorrow, I still don't understand why this place is as packed as it is," said Farah. Her hand played with the end of her scarf. "Are people making early bids or something?"

"I imagine that would have to do with the exhibition today."

Karel and Farah immediately spun around and came face-to-face with a tall, broad-shouldered man. He had shoulder length dark green hair pulled back into a braid as well as a short beard surrounding his mouth. He was dressed in a traditional red tunic and had a pleasant smile on his face.

"My apologies for eavesdropping but I was passing by and couldn't help but overhear," he said with a chuckle. He formed his right hand into a fist and covered it in front of his chest with his left hand before bowing. "My name is Xingke. May the blessings of Mother Earth be with you."

Karel blanked for a moment, unsure how to respond to such a greeting. He glanced to the side and saw Farah make the same gesture with her hands before returning the bow. Karel quickly did the same. "And may the wisdom of Father Sky guide you," said Farah. "My name is Farah and this is Karel."

Xingke's smile widened somewhat, making the creases in his skin more apparent. "It is my pleasure. I had not expected to receive the full greeting from anyone in Bulgar. Such is the surprising nature of the city I suppose."

"Did you say something earlier about an exhibition?" asked Karel.

Xingke nodded. "Indeed. Starting today, Fortune's Arc is going to exhibit the Wo Dao."

Farah crossed her arms. "I'm a little surprised. I'd think someone would try to steal the blade. Is it to silence any naysayers claiming the blade is a fake?"

"That would be my guess. The other I would imagine is simply to build excitement leading towards tomorrow," said Xingke.

Karel's left hand came to rest on the pommel of his sword. "What exactly brings you to Bulgar, Xingke?"

The man chuckled. "I wish I could claim greater aspirations than reality but I have come here to observe the auction and ascertain the authenticity of the Wo Dao."

"You and just about everyone else," said Farah with a sigh. "Do you not believe it is real?"

Xingke closed his eyes for a moment. "I must say that I do not believe it to be. The Wo Dao are not such weapons as to be something that can be pawned off to the man with the fattest purse. Weapons of that caliber always find their ways to the proper master." He looked back over the crowd. "Nevertheless, as the elders of my tribe once said, we can never overlook the probability of possibility."

"If you're so certain it's not a real one, why come here in the first place?" asked Karel. "Doesn't that seem kind of pointless?"

Xingke simply chuckled. "Perhaps you are right. I was informed that events that will shape matters to come will unfold here. I am here so that I may see what these events are and prepare myself and my people for what is to come."

"Events to come? Like what?" asked Karel.

"I cannot say because I do not know. All I can do is observe and see what there is to see with my own eyes," replied Xingke. "I'm afraid I must depart. May Father Sky and Mother Earth bring our paths together again." He brought his hands together and bowed like before and disappeared into the crowds of Bulgar. Farah returned the bow and Karel followed suit.

Farah had an annoyed look on her face. "You know, for someone from Sacae you can be pretty thick sometimes."

"Just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't tell me you've never seen the Greeting of the Plains?"

Karel shook his head. "I've never even heard of it. Is it that weird bowing thing?"

Farah's annoyance shifted to sheer incredulity. "Seriously? Ko wasn't kidding when he said you really came from out in the middle of nowhere."

"Sorry I apparently come from such an uncultured background," said Karel, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is it that big a deal?"

Farah crossed her arms. "It's something to remember, especially if you do work in this part of Sacae. The Greeting is common to all members of the three tribes. To not greet another tribesman with it is considered a great insult."

"I suppose I should be grateful you were there to cover for me."

"Yes, you should," said Farah with a sly grin on her face. He knew that look well enough. It more or less translated into "you owe me and I'll make sure to collect later."

"Say, there's something I've been wondering about for a while now," said Karel as he tried to change the subject. "Just who is William?"

"Ah, that's right. You wouldn't have met him since you joined recently. William is an old friend of the Commander," explained Farah.

"It seems strange that the two would know each other," said Karel. "I mean, a mercenary commander and a colonel for a count seems about as far apart as you could get."

"I don't know how they're acquainted myself," admitted Farah. "It was pretty far back, before the Commander founded the company was what I was told."

Karel didn't say anything for a moment and let out a sigh. "Even though I've been with this company for a year, I still feel like I know so little sometimes."

Farah shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "That may be, but here's a question for you. How much does anyone actually know about your past?"

Karel crossed his arms and conceded that she had a point. "I guess it just never crossed my mind."

Farah let out a soft laugh. "Well, it's not that surprising. It's not exactly something people bring up in everyday conversation. That and it's kind of an unspoken mercenary policy not to pry."

"As if you're one to talk," said Karel, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I can't think of a person in the company who pries more into other's business than you. How much do you actually know about the guys in the company?"

"Oh please, you're just imagining things now," said Farah with an almost bored tone. "Besides, I don't do it with everyone, mostly just you." Her grin from earlier was back.

Karel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Don't I feel special. I'd think there'd be others who'd be more than happy to indulge you and your questions."

"You know you don't need to answer my questions just as I don't always need to answer yours," said Farah.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

Suddenly the crowd erupted into an uproar of cheering and hollering. From the way men were clamoring over each other, he could only assume the Wo Dao had finally been brought forth for the public to see. His eyes scanned the area, hoping for perhaps somewhere he might be able to get a better view. Even the rooftops were occupied with people, all straining to see through the crowd. Karel mentally sighed; so much for his hope of a vantage point. Perhaps some random person would try to steal the weapon just so the crowd would disperse. He snorted; that would be too convenient.

"This is taking too long," muttered Farah. She was clearly as annoyed by the predicament as he was. He glanced back when he suddenly felt her hand grip his left tight. He was so surprised by the sudden gesture that he almost tripped when she dragged him as they started heading into the crowd.

"Uh, Farah, what are you-"

"Hold on tight," she ordered. Karel's eye caught sight of a yellow covered book and he immediately understood. He gripped her hand tighter to acknowledge he heard her. They approached the edge of the crowd and began to slide through the masses. Farah took the lead, her left hand extended just a few inches in front of her. Whenever some immovable mass of flesh got in her way, a quick shock flew from her finger to the back, allowing the two to pass. Karel put his right hand on his wallet, just to make sure some upstart pickpocket didn't rob him in the midst of the chaos. When he no longer felt Farah pulling him through the crowd, he looked up. He could actually see the podium where the exhibition was happening somewhat but there were still a good number of people ahead of them.

"Out of lightning?" asked Karel, half joking.

"No, but any closer and we'll probably start to draw attention to ourselves. Can you see anything?" Farah's eyes were already scanning the area. Karel peered over the shoulders and the space where he could. His eyes widened slightly in surprise when he saw the people that were keeping the crowd in line.

"Heroes?" he said aloud. "The Commander wasn't kidding when he thought these guys would have hired muscle."

"Anything else? The sooner we can get out of this pit the better," said Farah.

"Would you like me to hoist you on my shoulders?" teased Karel. Her disapproving glance was all he needed to know the answer.

"Maybe a couple of archers, but I can't tell too much else from here," said Karel as he scanned the area.

He looked again but blinked when a flash of light hit his eye. His eye traced it and saw the light was being reflected off what he assumed had to be the Wo Dao. The blade certainly looked of fine make, if a bit more slender than he assumed. He remembered Xingke's words; he believed the blade was fake, and for some reason he could agree with him. Perhaps it was because he had grown up with the Wo Dao around him but there was something that felt off about the sword on display. His gaze shifted to the men standing around the display. Both were muscular men bearing a sturdy set of platemail and a large single edged axe.

"They've even got some Warriors from the look of things," said Karel. "I can see two up there, but not much else."

"Let's go then," said Farah. Karel nodded and turned to follow her. The two squeezed their way out and took a moment to catch their breath when they heard a distinct whistle. Ko and Drake were waiting at the entrance to the marketplace, the former waving his arm to get their attention.

Ko had a smug look on his face as the two joined up with their companions. "Didn't realize you two had gotten so close. When did this happen?"

Karel and Farah exchanged confused looks before both realized they were still holding hands. Both immediately separated, prompting a laugh from Ko.

"Anyway," said Farah as she regained her composure, "what did you manage to find on your end?"

Ko let out a sigh. "These guys are stacked pretty solid. I've never seen a merchant caravan that has as many armed men at their disposal. They have to have at least twenty men working for them."

"That's not including the Heroes and Warriors we saw at the market," said Farah. "Any idea on the kind of foes we're dealing with?"

"Mostly mercenaries from the look o' things," growled Drake. "Couple axe wielders and some archers."

Farah chewed her lower lip in silence as she thought over what she heard. "I'm sure we can handle thirty men but the challenge will be doing this while dealing with the caravans."

"We still have time to make a plan and decide how to best handle the situation," said Ko. "We got what we came here for, so we should probably just call it for the day."

Farah sighed. "I suppose you're right." Drake and Ko nodded and started back for the tavern. Karel was looking back at the crowd where the Wo Dao was still being displayed. "Coming, Karel?"

He jumped a bit. "Yeah."

"You know, even if you could bid on it, it's not like you could afford it," said Farah.

"It's not that. I was more just thinking about something Xingke said. I can't explain it, but when I saw that sword, I knew he was right."

One of Farah's eyebrows went up. "You're that certain?"

"Call it a swordsman's intuition," said Karel. Farah responded with a mocking look of disbelief, which he casually brushed aside. "We should get going." Without another word he started back to the tavern, Farah right by his side as the two left the clamoring crowd behind.

-x-

Trade house he said. Large he said. Carmine couldn't help but scoff at the Commander's words as she observed the building from the safety of a nearby alley. The Fortune's Arc trade house was easily the largest property within three blocks of the street and looked more like some sort of regal mansion rather than a home for a merchant guild.

"Just who is backing these guys?" muttered Carmine. Trade houses were quite common in Bulgar. Bern, Etruria, and even Lycia all had at least one guild stationed here. Most were the size of a modest tavern. The trade houses were a vital part of the merchant network. Merchants were required to stop at each house along the way so that the company could maintain an accurate and up to date listing of all shipments and goods. Beyond that, the houses sometimes doubled as lodging for the night.

Carmine's deep red eyes followed the guard on duty, a bruiser of a fellow who had arms thick as logs. He had a long Steel Blade strapped to his back and he certainly looked like he knew how to handle it. He strolled past the alley she was hiding in and stopped for a moment at the front door. Her gaze shifted to a shaded alley opposite her location. It was faint, but she could make out the silhouettes of the Commander and Gil. Right now the rest of the company was no doubt hiding in the tall grass outside the east gate, waiting for the caravan.

The doors slid open and a man dressed in a tunic and vest started saying something to the bruiser. The other man on patrol came over when he saw the two and the man started saying something. Carmine snaked closer, crossing the cobblestone street and pressing her body against the wall to the building, her body mostly hidden by the shadows.

"…'s already begun," said the vested man. He had a monocle over his left eye and from his large belly, Carmine had to assume he was likely the manager of the house. He handed some envelope to the latecomer. "Take this down to the caravan and make sure they get it before they depart."

The man nodded and dashed down the road towards the east gate. The manager said something unintelligible before closing the doors to the house behind him with a loud bang. The big guard let out a sigh and turned his back to her. She glided like a phantom from her hiding spot right up behind the man and swiftly covered his mouth with a cloth. The man struggled for only a few seconds before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground.

"Nicely done," said the Commander. He and Gil hoisted the man up by the armpits and set him next to a rain barrel off to the side. To the casual passerby, the knocked out guard wasn't even visible. The two adjusted returned and adjusted their gray cloaks and hoods.

She checked the door and sure enough the portly man from earlier had locked it. She retrieved her lockpick and set to work. In about a minute, she had the door open. The three shuffled in silently. When she saw the interior of the building, her heart sank. The trade house seemed even bigger on the inside than it did on the outside. If the Commander's estimates were right, they had at most an hour to search the place and find the evidence they needed.

The Commander didn't seem concerned at all and started moving for the stairs that led to the second floor. She and Gil followed wordlessly behind him. He moved past the doors and down a hallway that extended to the back of the building. There was only one door and unlike the others they had passed, this one had a lock on it. He gave her the nod and she set about unlocking this door as well. She pulled it open and the three slipped in, the door closing behind them with a soft click.

It was a veritable library of records, all kept in scrolls that were organized and kept on shelves according to date. What was more, there were multiple shelves of the things. Whoever ran this place didn't just keep good records; they kept meticulous records. She honestly wondered how on earth they were going to find what they were looking for in under an hour.

"All right, let's start searching. Carmine, watch the door and clock. Gil, take the shelves at the other end. I'll start here. Remember we're looking for shipments pertaining only to weapons."

The two nodded and they set to work right away. Gil and Morgan were quick but careful as they poured over the various scrolls. Each scroll that was taken down was replaced so as to appear completely undisturbed. Minutes went by in silence save the occasional crinkle of parchment. A half hour passed when suddenly Gil broke the silence.

"Commander, I think I have it."

Morgan strolled over and examined the scroll for a moment. He smirked before rolling it up and slipping the item into an interior pocket on his cloak. "We've got what we came for. Let's hurry to rendezvous with the others."

The three left and returned to the lobby only to see the portly manager and a full set of five guards, along with the guard they had knocked out earlier propped against the wall. The man was berating them for something along the lines of doing their job properly. Carmine backed into the shade of the hallway.

"Looks like we have some unexpected company, Commander," she said.

"We don't have time to waste here," said Morgan through grit teeth.

"Hey! Who are you and what do you think you're doing?" barked a soldier. Carmine cursed the surprisingly good lighting of this place.

"Looks like the decision has just been taken out of our hands," sighed Morgan. "Let's wrap this up quick and clean, all right?"

He stepped out into the open. A guard came up to him while the rest of the men began shuffling up the stairs. The guard kept his blade pointed at the Commander.

"Let's see your hands," ordered the guard. Morgan gave him an apologetic smile and raised his hands above his head. Just then Carmine and Gil emerged from the shadows. Carmine kicked the blade out of the guard's hand before Gil shoved him into the men coming up the stairs. The entire troop tumbled down the stairs, a cacophony of steel and groans. The Commander gave a nod and the trio vaulted over the banister and out the front door, leaving a flabbergasted and stunned manager to clean up their mess.

-x-

The night had come and it brought with it a surprisingly bitter cold front. Karel stuck his hands under his arms in an attempt to warm them up but it did little good as another gust of wind chilled him. He wished the caravan would just move out so he could return to the comfort of the tavern fireplace. He glanced to his right where the others were despite being unable to see anything in the tall grass.

There was a loud creak as the aged wood doors of the east gate opened. The black night was dispelled by the soft glow from the torches carried by the men accompanying the caravans. Slowly, one cart pulled out, drawn by two strong horses. The Warriors from yesterday stood at the front, their axes reflecting the pale moonlight. The second wagon followed close behind, this one guarded by mostly mercenaries and archers. Finally the third pulled through before the gates closed behind them. The rear guard was a mix of Heroes and mercenaries.

He waited patiently in the grass as the caravans drew closer. He could feel his heartbeat pound against his ribcage. The first caravan passed him and he got a better look at the guards around the caravans. Unfortunately their guess looked to be dead on; there were at least thirty men total to deal with. His concern wasn't the standard mercenaries or archers; it was the big weights.

There was silence, save the occasional grunt from the caravan guards and the squeaking wheels. Then it began.

A fireball exploded in front of the first caravan in a brilliant array of sparks. The horses rose up in panic. The boom rattled the horses in back, despite the drivers' best attempts to calm them. The mercenaries at the middle were clearly unsure how to react as they drew their weapons, all of them wildly spinning around in search of the source of their attacker. Suddenly one unfortunate swordsman fell to the ground, a black fletched arrow protruding from his neck. The Heroes and Warriors had their weapons drawn and calmly held their positions amidst the chaos. Another fireball exploded in front of the second caravan. Men dove to avoid the flames, one man unfortunately getting crushed by a panicked horse hoof.

Arrows started to strike with increased frequency. The shots were coming seemingly from all angles, causing the mercenaries at the middle to contract into a tight panicked ball. Karel couldn't help but smirk. Amidst the chaos, none of them were even aware of Ko circling them atop Mara. One arrow went for a Warrior but he raised his axe to deflect the shot just in time. He wasn't prepared though for the bolt of lightning that slammed into his chest. The man went flying back, as the stench of burning flesh filled the night air.

The second Warrior had his back turned. Now was his chance. Karel bolted out of the grass and up the road straight towards the man. His blade was already in his hand. The Warrior turned to react but he was too late. The Killing Edge's supremely sharp steel sliced through his thick neck muscles like a hot knife through butter. The Warrior collapsed as the ground greedily drank his lifesblood.

Karel retreated back into the tall grass and doubled back to the rear guard. The Heroes had abandoned the other mercenaries in an attempt to take control of the chaos at the center. Karel struck like a viper and claimed the life of a man before disappearing back into the tall grass. He turned on his heel, dashed down a few meters, and launched another strike, this time claiming the lives of two more men. The rear guard quickly dissolved as the remaining men hurried to join the others at the center.

The thirty men had been reduced to fifteen all clustered together like a giant ball. The two remaining archers were shooting arrows every which way, hoping to score some random hit until one of the Heroes commanded them to cease. Another bolt of lightning descended upon the group but this time one of the Heroes shoved a mercenary out of the way in the nick of time. Ko launched a few more arrows but it was clear that the initial panic was subsiding and with the Heroes commanding the situation they were starting to regain control of the situation.

Karel leapt forth from his hiding place and managed to pick off an archer but a Hero blocked his next strike. The two exchanged a few blows before Karel backed away and retreated back into the grass. This wasn't good. If this dragged on too long, the night watch would notice and the last thing they wanted was unnecessary involvement. The Heroes seemed well aware of this as well. They had formed a tight circle and from their actions, it was clear that they were just trying to buy time.

A flash of light caught Karel's eye. It was faster than anything he had ever seen, blue as a clear lake, and bolted in an erratic yet somehow straight path. At first he thought it was a Thunder spell but he had never seen one act like that. It seemed to disappear as it reached the first caravan. Suddenly the entire caravan exploded in flames, completely leaving naught but a burning frame.

A second blue bolt followed swiftly after and laid waste to the second just as it had the first. Karel watched in amazement, uncertain exactly of what it was. It was magic, no doubt, but he had never seen a magic with such destructive potential or such unusual execution. The blast tore the second wagon to pieces, sending a spoke wheel flying past his face.

The remaining mercenaries were clearly lost at how to act. The Heroes attempted to rally the men around the last wagon, placing themselves between it and whatever was destroying them. Two of their wagons had been destroyed in a matter of seconds. No doubt many were asking if they even wanted to find out who or what had done such a thing in such a short amount of time.

One of the guards pointed down the road back to Bulgar. Three shadowy figures approached the caravans with a slow yet deliberate pace. The silhouettes of the strangers faded in the light to reveal Morgan, Carmine, and Gil. The Commander had abandoned his gray cloak and bore completely impassive expression upon his face. He remembered in the plan that Morgan had told them to simply hold out and stall the caravan long enough for him to join them. Just what did the man have up his sleeve?

Morgan stopped ten paces from the guards, his hands resting at his side. "Those of you who do not wish to die should leave. You have only one wagon left and I can assure you it will burn just as quickly as the others. I see no point in spilling any more blood here." Many of the men looked at each other and formation loosened. Clearly some men were all too ready to take Morgan up on his proposal.

"Are you the one who attacked us?" demanded one of the Heros, his sword gleaming in the fire's light.

"I am." The Commander was the epitome of calm amidst the tension and chaos. He almost appeared to be amused by the whole thing, as though it were some game he controlled. No, Karel realized, it wasn't calm so much as it was apathy. The Commander didn't even consider these men a threat to him.

"Who are you? Some dog of a rival trading company?" demanded the Hero.

"I am not obligated to answer your questions," replied Morgan smoothly. "I will say it one more time. Those of you who do not wish to die, leave now. You can always find employment on the morrow but only if you live to see it."

Several of the men, mostly the younger batch, did just that. In a heartbeat they had sheathed their weapons and taken off for Bulgar. The Heroes glared at the deserters. It was just the three of them and the four they had managed to keep from running off. "You cowards! I swear I'll skin the lot of ya when I'm finished here!" He spat at the ground. "This is why you can never count on some damn sellswords to do a job."

"I see. You're actually a personal guard employed by Fortune's Arc," assessed Morgan. "Leave. This last wagon is not worth your lives."

The Hero glared at Morgan. "Don't get cocky. It's clear you're the leader of this group. In my estimation, all we have to do is kill you and we can be on our merry way. What do you think of that?"

Morgan closed his eyes. "Very well then. I'll make this quick." He raised his right hand in front of him. The Hero and the other men let out a roar. Morgan muttered something under his breath. They started to close in.

Morgan snapped his fingers.

A blue bolt of light shot from his fingers and into the group of men. They froze for a moment before a series of explosions ripped through all of them. As the smoke cleared, their bodies lay strewn about the road, each of them dead. Those who had been right next to the light or touched it had parts of their body completely blown away by the explosion. It was a gruesome sight. Morgan's expression was completely unchanged, just cold, impassive, almost uncaring. He snapped his fingers one more time and the final wagon burst apart in a glorious explosion of crimson flame.

"Let's clean this up. I'll report to William tomorrow that the deed is done."

Karel numbly nodded before sheathing his sword and proceeding to help bury the bodies. The sight of such blatant and devastating destruction was something he found to be oddly uncomfortable. It was part of the job, he knew that and he didn't question it. Deep down though, there was a part of him that hoped he would never have to see the Commander step onto the battlefield again. This wasn't a fight. In a fight, there was an assumption that either side could potentially win. These men hadn't even stood a chance. It reminded him far too much of his dreams.

He shook his head and silently continued his work.

Years later, when he would look back, he would realize that this was but a spark, one that would go on to fuel a great fire that would consume his entire world.

* * *

A/N: My apologies for the length of this chapter. As a fair warning, chapters to come might be closer to this one in length than the old one. A few quick notes for those curious. The trade houses and merchants' guilds are an author original idea, one that I actually used in an earlier work of mine but was able to reuse here. The Greeting of the Plains is not from anything in particular and was more just my attempt to create a ritual-like greeting the tribes used. The stars and their names are also just me attempting to give some more life to the world. I hope this chapter was as enjoyable as the last few. Thanks for reading!


	8. Questions without Answers

Chapter 7: Questions without Answers

The rain relentlessly pelted the rider and his horse as they weaved through the sea of tall grass. He pulled his straw woven hat lower to protect his eyes from the continuous barrage. His cloak was soaked; he could feel the water seeping into his clothes, chilling him to his bones. Off in the distance he could make out the faint orange glow of Fort Beryl. Glad to finally have his destination in sight, the rider urged the horse to hurry.

"Come on Edane, we're almost there." The horse snorted as though to acknowledge his encouragement. His breath fogged as soon as it touched the cold air.

He could not suppress the feeling in his gut that this storm was a sign. The storm was regarded as a dangerous and worrisome warning. The storm did not represent good nor did it represent evil. Storms were tumultuous, unpredictable things that did not have a clear outcome. They were uncertainty incarnate.

The elders dreaded uncertainty above all else.

They were the ones who communed with the spirits and were blessed in turn with the power of foresight. This power was as important as it was essential to the very lives of their people. Naturally people rejoiced when the elders revealed that the signs of fortune had made itself apparent but the knowledge of misfortune also brought with it a certain comfort. To know of what was to come, even when it was unfavorable, at least allowed them to prepare and to act when the time came.

That was why uncertainty was terrifying.

It stripped the elders of their eyes. Suddenly all the traditions and beliefs fell away and there was nothing to catch the people. It was like falling with no bottom in sight.

Hassar pulled his cloak tighter. The elders claimed to have seen it in the near future. A storm so violent and ominous that once it engulfed them they would be unable to see what end it would bring. He had assured them that no matter what he would protect the tribe and fight the very spirits themselves if they conspired to harm them. The elders scoffed at his words, some were even outraged and called them blasphemous. What kind of tribesman would even think that he could fight against the destined course the spirits had lain forth?

Hassar looked at it differently though. A storm may be approaching but it was up to the people to decide whether they pitch the tents to shield themselves from the rain or run about like a headless chicken and gets caught in all its fury. He was not disrespectful; the truth couldn't be further. He had been a firm believer in the words of the elders since he was a boy. As the chief though, it was his duty to guide his people when no one else was able to. As an old friend of his once put it, "A strategist can see the battle and its outcomes but it is up to the general to choose the one he wants."

Those words had formed the backbone for his leadership since his return from the southern canton of Caelin years ago.

Edane crossed the stone bridge and the two finally arrived at the Etrurian border fortress and checkpoint known simply as Fort Beryl, named after the Beryl River over which it loomed. In the midst of the darkened stormclouds the slate gray walls appeared to be made of obsidian and rose almost like mountains before the rider and his mount. It was said that Bern once tried to march upon Etruria but was unable to because of Fort Beryl. The fort and its soldiers managed to repel the Bernites for one long year, enough time for the Etrurian Central Army to arrive and repel the invaders.

To this day the fort stood as a testament and a warning to Etruria's enemies. It was a perfect defensive location. The northern Ilian mountains and the southern mountains all ran right up to the Beryl River. The only way into the Etrurian homeland from the east was through the natural funnel that guided them to Fort Beryl.

A gate guard stopped Hassar as he approached the metal reinforced doors. Hassar reached into his cloak and presented a gold ring with a blue signet upon it. The soldier's eyes widened in shock before he dumbly nodded and gave the signal to the men to open the gate. Hassar thanked the man before urging Edane onwards.

The fort had grown significantly in the years since the Bernite attack. With the sudden flux of mercantile activity in the last twenty years, the fort had become a pivotal checkpoint for all traders hoping to transport or peddle their wares in Sacae or Bern. He passed a number of caravans and wagons, many of their owners taking shelter under the tanned leather roofs. Beyond the caravans lay the town proper and at the back was the barracks and inner fortress that contained the fort guard. The inner fortress towered over the town, reaching even above the stone walls.

Hassar guided Edane to a stables owned by a tavern within the town. He dismounted and kept close to the buildings to avoid as much of the rain as he could. Eventually he reached the paved street known commonly around the area as Merchant's Alley. It was an apt name, given that the entire street was lined with the trade houses of various merchant guilds. He eventually found the building he had been looking for, a modest yet well maintained house with a placard reading "Etrurian Merchants' Guild" above it. He stepped inside and removed his dripping wet hat.

The building was mostly empty. A few merchants sat around the fireplace chatting while a group of men in another corner enjoyed a smoke over a game of cards. Hassar ignored all of them and made his way up the steps and to the oak door at the end of the hallway. He gave it a soft knock and heard a shuffling of feet on the other side.

The door opened to reveal a gentle looking man in his late thirties. His blonde hair was short cut yet had a bit of a natural curl to it. He wore a black doublet that Hassar didn't even need to touch to know it was made of fine quality cotton.

"Chief Hassar," greeted the man with a look of surprise. "I must say, I wasn't expecting you at this hour. Please, come in."

"My apologies for the short notice, Lord Dalton," greeted Hassar as he offered a grin. "Despite the storm, Edane rode hard and the wind was at our back."

Dalton returned the gesture. "Well, I'm glad you made it all the same. You seem to have, well, caught me in the middle of some rather tedious paperwork. If you would give me just a moment. Besides, I'm sure you'd like the chance to dry off."

"Thank you." Hassar removed his cloak and hung it upon a coat rack. Water still dripped from the articles like a wet rag. Lord Dalton took a seat at his desk and rapidly started scribbling something upon the parchment. For a lord's office, the room was rather spartan in its furnishing. Beyond the desk, a few chairs, and a rug, the room felt rather empty. The truly noteworthy feature of the room was the shelf that spanned from one end of the wall to the other behind Lord Dalton. It was filled to the brim with scrolls and books or all kinds and organized in such a way that the lord could immediately find whatever item he needed.

The quill stopped and Dalton rolled up the scroll with a satisfied smile. He let out a sigh as he slipped it onto one of the shelves behind him. "Could I offer you a drink? Something to warm the bones after a long ride?"

Hassar held up his hand. "No need. I'm afraid I cannot stay terribly long. Your letter though said that something important had come up and you wished to speak with me about the matter?"

"Ah, yes, of course." Dalton stood up from his chair and retrieved a scroll from the shelf behind him. "I had wanted to speak with you regarding a new trade route that we are planning on opening. It will allow us to trade more effectively with Lycia."

"You seem to be expanding more of late," commented Hassar.

Dalton nodded. "Well, a couple of weeks ago Fortune's Arc, our primary competitor, was revealed to be in a smuggling operation. The Guild Union punished them quite severely leaving us to fill the gaps. I've been back and forth between Aquelia and my canton so much these last few weeks I feel like I haven't had a chance to sit down and think."

Hassar slowly nodded to show he understood. "Is there a concern with the new route then?"

"More a matter of consulting," explained Dalton as he unrolled the scroll to reveal a detailed map of western Sacae. "The route would run here." His finger traced a line across the parchment and led straight into Lycia, effectively saving time by preventing an unnecessary trip to Bulgar. "I don't know the tribes locations though and don't want to cause any unnecessary trouble."

"Ah." Hassar took a look again at the map. "The current route should be fine. It runs close to the Djute tribe but you are still within territory considered Lorcan so it should be fine."

"Really? That's wonderful. Many thanks, my friend." Dalton seemed to be greatly relieved, almost as though he had been on pins and needles the entire time. "With this, the Lorca should be able to deal with a larger number of merchants as well, meaning more goods and revenue."

Hassar acknowledged his comment with a grin. "I appreciate your constant support. It truly means much to know I have such a dependable friend."

"No, I should be the one thanking you. Without your help, I wouldn't even be able to do business as well as I do right now," said Lord Dalton as he held up his hands to try and wave away the compliment. "By the way, and I don't mean to pry, but has something come up? You seem oddly tense."

Hassar stopped as he reached for his cloak. "A delicate situation has come up, one that I am doing my best to resolve carefully. There's been a series of raids upon a clan under my protection, called the Temaril. They are a proud and small group of nomads that live close to the area the Djute patrol. They are claiming the Djute are behind the raids. Naturally the Djute deny such accusations."

"And you're worried this could turn bloody, correct?" asked Dalton.

"Yes. The Temaril are stubborn in their belief that the Djute are behind it. The Djute are outraged and claim that the Temaril are trying to use them as scapegoats for a recent set of raids they've been experiencing as well. I do not wish to turn this into a conflict between Chiefs, but I fear it may soon reach that point."

"Have you managed to investigate the matter at all?"

"I've sent men in but they turned up dead a few days later," admitted Hassar grimly. "While my men do not fear death, I will not cast them into the abyss just to be consumed by a demon. I would investigate the matter myself it I wasn't so busy trying to ease the tensions between our tribes."

Dalton sat back at his desk and closed his eyes in thought. "Well, why not hire someone else to assist you?"

"Hire? As in mercenaries?" asked Hassar, the disbelief apparent in his expression. "I cannot fathom there is a sellsword that would be able to handle such a delicate situation."

Dalton smiled. "I think I might be able to prove you wrong. The company I hired to expose Fortune's Arc are led by a very capable man by the name of Morgan. He will be able to handle this, I'm certain of it."

Hassar stared off into space for a moment before nodding. "I see. If you trust this Morgan enough to speak so highly of him, then it may be worth seeing if he can help us with this situation. What are they called?"

"Morgan's Mercenaries, although, some have taken to calling them Morgan's Wolves," said Dalton. The lord bade the chief farewell. Hassar adjusted his cloak and slipped the hat on as he stepped back out into the storm. Yes, things were uncertain indeed.

-x-

"Behind you!" shouted Karel as Farah spun around, her sword instinctively blocking Ko's incoming thrust, while Karel continued to dodge the thrusts from Gil's lance. The two were back to back, unable to move because of Gil and Ko's constant attacks. Just when an opening would present itself, one of them would cut off their escape route. It was much like a pack of wolves that had closed in upon their prey, determined to wear it down but make sure it couldn't escape.

Karel raised his sword to deflect the thrust. He took a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Farah appeared to be in no better a situation. She was effectively blocking Ko's attacks but he showed no sign of tiring. At this rate, they would lose due to exhaustion. Karel chanced another look over his shoulder and saw Ko step back as Gil prepared for a renewed assault.

"Switch!" He heard Farah's voice and his body instinctively reacted before his mind could even process the command. He spun to the right, ducking under Farah's left arm. Both Ko and Gil weren't expecting the sudden reversal. Karel slashed upwards, disarming Ko almost immediately while Farah's blade snapped the wooden pole of the iron lance in two. None of the combatants moved for a minute until they heard some clapping from the sidelines. Carmine and Drake were clapping, Carmine with a broad grin while Drake had a satisfied look on his face.

Karel glanced over at Farah and the two shared a triumphant grin. "Looks like we win today," proclaimed Farah. Ko shrugged his shoulders and went to retrieve his sword while Gil let out a short sigh.

"You guys are getting better," said Gil as he looked at the lance again before discarding it. "Hell, it's the arena's anyway. What do I care?"

"Someone's a little bitter," teased Karel smugly. "Last I checked this win puts the record at 4-3."

Gil shook his head. "You got lucky."

"Don't worry too much about him," said Farah to Karel. She turned her gaze back to Gil with a triumphant smile. "He's just mad because he agreed to pay for lunch if he lost today."

The two shared a laugh as Gil glared at the two with his arms crossed. Ko came over and put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Eh, we lost today, but doesn't that make the revenge the next day all the sweeter?" He gave the two a confident look as he finished his statement.

"And the despair even greater when we win again," countered Farah.

"Yeah? How much you want to bet?" asked Ko.

Karel's hand rested in its usual place, upon the pommel of his Killing Edge. "Let's keep it simple. You owe us both lunch and dinner if you lose next time."

"All right, you're on," said Ko immediately. "Hope you guys have been getting some good paying jobs of late."

"Sheesh, listen to this lot. If this is how you're gonna be, why don't you just take your egos inside the arena where they might actually make us some real money?" Carmine let out a frustrated sigh, he red hair becoming disheveled. She tried to blow it off to the side but the strands remained adamant.

"Now that's an idea I can get behind," chuckled Drake. "Maybe the winner could treat all o' us ta dinner then. Get some real meat 'stead o' this dried stuff."

The company shared a laugh over the matter; even Gil cracked a smile. The gate creaked open and the arena manager gave them a quick nod of the head. That was their cue to get out before the arena competitors showed up. Some time ago Morgan had done the man a favor on a job and in exchange he had allowed the company to use the grounds for training purposes as long as they were out before the rush. None of the company complained; it beat having to make the trip out to the plains and the arena had a good stockpile of cheap and used weapons, often leftovers from the arena bouts, that they could use as they liked.

Ko slipped up next to Karel as they made the trek down the cobblestone streets to the tavern. "Just for the record, if I had been allowed my bow, you and Farah would be the ones owing us food right now."

"For which I'm rather grateful," responded Karel in kind. "Don't forget we all agreed only on close range weapons this time around."

"So, when are you two planning on collecting on this little bet?" he asked with a thin lipped grin.

Karel raised an eyebrow with a half-smile. "Why? Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"I'm just advising you to maybe wait to collect for later," he said as nonchalantly as possible.

Karel fixed his friend with a deadpan expression. "You don't have any money right now, do you?"

"Aw, it would seem I've been found out," chuckled Ko.

"No wonder you were so quick to accept the wager for the next duel." Karel's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Whatever happened to your cut from the Fortune's Arc gig?"

"Gold has this magical property in my hands where it manages to disappear. One minute it's there, the next it's gone."

"Especially when a pretty girl is around I'd wager," added Karel. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but don't you keep track of your money?"

"Of course I do. Last week I spent about a hundred gold on food and wine with a lovely dame named Eliza, and before that was that wonderful lass Marline…"

Karel held up a hand. "I get it."

"No need to be a stick in the mud, my friend," said Ko as he put a hand on his shoulder. "I know you still have problems dealing with women and that's why I'm here to help. You should come with me some of these nights. I'd be more than happy to teach you the art of courtship."

"Thanks but no thanks," said Karel. "Besides, I can relate to women just fine. I don't need your help."

"Riiiight. That's why you turn as red as a cherry tomato and can't speak clearly whenever Carmine gets nice and close. Or like that one time when you and Farah were getting comfortable." Ko was grinning almost ear to ear now.

"S-shut up," said Karel weakly. He knew full well what the nomad was referring to. In the week after the whole Fortune's Arc thing there had been a summer festival in Bulgar. If the markets had seemed packed for the Wo Dao exhibition, then this festival had been another thing entirely. He originally hadn't been planning on having anything to do with it but Farah and Ko had literally dragged him out to join in the fun.

He had enjoyed it. The marketplace was filled with stands hawking wonderful wares and the smell of garlic and spices filled the air. Colorful banners hung over the streets and it seemed everyone from the city was out to celebrate. It had been great until Carmine had found the three and pulled them into a round dance to a rousing variation on a Sacaen folk song going on in the main plaza near the southern gate. Karel was good on his feet but he had never danced before, and certainly not with what looked like well over a hundred people.

As he was quickly learning that day, he wasn't going to get much of a say in the matter. Ko shoved him and Farah right into the mess and he had to improvise quickly. Thankfully, it turned out swordsmanship lent itself well to dancing and within a few minutes he and Farah were dancing through the round as naturally as the rest. He remembered the dance working itself to a frenzy and he nearly went dizzy from the amount of spinning and the number of partners he kept trading. As the lutes and fiddles reached the climax, the dance finished with a dramatic flourish. He traded partners with one last spin only to end with Farah pressed up right against him, both breathless from the dancing. He had never been that close to her before; their faces had to only be inches apart. In that moment all speech had failed him. Farah just laughed and thanked him for the dance before pulling him back out of the crowd. Karel could still remember Ko's grin when the young swordsman was still tripping over his words.

It wasn't necessarily that he was shy; well, it was part of it. It was more that he had no idea how to react half the time and when it came down to it his brain just seemed to freeze. "Besides, that time with Farah was a fluke. I can usually talk to her just fine."

"That is true. I wonder why?" Ko asked rhetorically.

"A year of arguing and being forced to improvise in life-or-death situations does wonders for improving relations," said Karel flatly. There was a slight red tinge to his cheeks despite his blunt and dull voice. It didn't go unnoticed by Ko.

"You like her, don't you?" he said cajolingly. Karel looked at him with a mixture of shock and denial, his throat unable to give voice to either. He glanced up ahead where she chatted away with the rest of the company. The Sacaen nomad laughed. "Don't worry. I've got your back. You'll need it, considering you'd probably just be like a fish out of water if you tried on your own."

Karel wanted to move the conversation away from him as desperately as he possibly could. Thankfully, Ko didn't seem interested in pursuing the matter any further. The nomad gave him one last reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before strolling ahead to talk chat up Drake about something. The nomad had not brought his headband, allowing his distinctive forest green hair to fall freely around his face.

Karel was struck by a thought as he watched Ko. Despite his heritage from the plains, no one would ever guess if from the way he acted. He was nothing like Xingke, a man who held to the teachings and the spiritual ideals of his people. He also wasn't anything like the people from his clan; people so single-minded in their drive and focus that Karel wondered whether they could even be called people sometimes.

Ko seemed to embody the idea of free will and life. He courted whom he wished, chose the battles he'd fight, and lived his life as he pleased. Despite his jabs at the man, Karel couldn't help but admire the way his friend lived his life so earnestly. His uncle had once spoken that a man should not live with regrets, something Karel thought was a load of horse dung. Maybe Raidal was talking about someone like Ko when he said those words.

Karel felt of late like the Sacaen identity didn't really apply to him. He was constantly reminded by just how little he actually understood about his birthplace. He looked and dressed the part; that much was clear from the muffled words of passing foreigners, but he never truly felt like a Sacaen. People like Xingke seemed to hail from another land entirely. He was never certain how he felt about the matter either. Part of him was disturbed and even angry that he felt like an outcast amongst "his people" but part of him just didn't care. He often lay awake at night, a little voice whispering in his ear, _"you always were an outcast."_

The tavern door noisily creaked upon its hinges like it always did. Clara had insisted that she would have it looked at soon as she could but with the summer season soon coming to an end, she had been busy getting the place prepared for the colder months and the door had gone forgotten. Karel took a chair and plopped down into the seat. He took a long drink from his waterskin, a gift from Farah after he nearly passed out due to heat on a summer job.

"Ah, good you're back." He glanced up and saw Morgan peering over the balcony above. "Karel, Ko, Farah, I need to see you three in my office."

He glanced over to the other two. They exchanged confused looks but didn't say anything as they climbed the stairs to the Commander's room. The room was incredibly well organized; every article or item was on the shelf or in the drawer it needed to be. Morgan had a desk near a window, decorated only with a quill and ink, a few papers, and a candle that was in desperate need of replacement. The Commander motioned for them to close the door.

"Training session go well this morning?" asked Morgan.

"Depends on who you ask," muttered Ko, getting a small jab in the ribs from Farah. "But overall it went quite well."

The Commander responded with a light-hearted smile and reached into his cloak pocket. He extracted a scroll fastened with a piece of colored twine. The parchment was much rougher than the kind Karel was familiar with seeing.

"Is that right? Well, make sure you don't gamble away all your money in training Ko. Lord knows your female friends would be incredibly sad when they find their knight in shining armor can't afford to treat them any longer," he said casually, much to Ko's ever growing chagrin.

"I-well-yes Commander," Ko finally spluttered out.

"Do you have a new job for us, Commander?" asked Farah, her eyes on the scroll in his hand.

Morgan gave a curt nod. "Yes, I actually just received it this morning." He made a strange face as his fingers played across the scroll. "It is a rather delicate job though."

"Delicate? Are you sure they should be asking a bunch of mercenaries in that case?" asked Ko with a grin.

"Let me lay out the situation. I have received a letter requesting our aid in resolving a mysterious series of raids upon a Sacaen clan attached to the Lorca. The letter is personally signed by Hassar, the Chief of the Lorca."

The trio's eyes widened at the last statement. They had received jobs occasionally from the small Sacaen clan or family here or there, usually revolving around revenge for a loved one killed by a bandit, but they had never received a request from one of the three tribes.

Morgan continued. "Now I don't know how familiar you are with the Lorca or their relations with the other tribes, but suffice it to say that the Djute and the Lorca have never seen eye to eye. The Djute regard the Lorca as an inferior tribe and the two have had a bloody history over the centuries. There's a lot of bad blood between the two. The raids alone aren't terribly problematic. The larger problem is that the clan is accusing the Djute as being responsible behind the attacks. The Djute have also been the victims of these raids and are in turn blaming the Lorca."

"So that's what you meant by delicate," said Farah as she chewed her lower lip. "Has either side acted yet?"

"Thankfully no," replied Morgan. "At the moment, Hassar has managed to restrain either side from drawing arrows against the other but if the attacks continue it's only a matter of time. That's where we come in. The job is to find the ones behind these raids, catch the bastards and bring them down before the tension between clans boils over."

"This sounds like a pretty big job, especially for just the three of us," said Ko. "Wouldn't it be better to have the whole company in on this?"

"This _is_ a company job," said Morgan grimly. "We're going to have to handle this one like we did Fortune's Arc where we split our forces. I will be leading the rest of the company to the Lorcan base camp to meet with Hassar. The three of you will head west and join up with the Lorcan clan suffering from these attacks. It will be your responsibility to investigate the matter and determine who the culprits are. Once you know that, send a messenger to me and we will rendezvous."

"Is there a reason you need the three of us?" asked Farah. "For gathering information like this, Carmine or Gil would be much better suited to the task I'd think, not to mention you'd be the best choice for negotiations."

"Your points are valid. Personally, I'd rather handle this myself along with Gil and Carmine considering how grave the situation is. We have a problem though," said Morgan as he sat down with a sigh. "None of us are Sacaen."

"I don't follow," said Karel. "Why does that matter?"

Morgan ran a hand through his hair as his eyes shifted back to the scroll. "Forgive me, I forget that even though you are Sacaen you aren't familiar with the culture of the tribes. To say the three tribes do not take well to foreigners may be an understatement. There are many that will not even let people such as myself anywhere near their people, much less into their camp."

"I thought that wasn't the case any longer, at least for the Lorca," said Farah.

"Things have been changing of late for the Lorca thanks to Lord Dalton's trade agreements and Hassar's influence, but many Sacaens are highly distrustful of anyone except other Sacaens. According to Hassar's missive, this is a rather…traditional clan and hasn't quite adapted to the changes. If I or any one else goes, it is very likely this clan won't even give us the time of day."

"That's ridiculous," said Karel. "This could potentially turn into a war and they're more concerned about blood ties than resolving this?"

"I share your sentiments Karel, I really do," said Morgan with a half-smile. "You have to understand that the Sacaens have been mistreated for decades, centuries even, by nations such as Etruria, Bern, and Lycia. Sacae has been invaded many times by these nations and their people treated worse than dogs. Many were forced into slavery or taken from their homes and deprived of any sort of human rights. There are clans, though they are far fewer than they were decades ago, that will kill any man that steps into their camp that is not a Sacaen. They view it as retribution for past sins. Things have changed over the years, there can be no question, and leaders like Hassar are certainly doing much to lessen these tensions, but the feelings of hate and discrimination are not going to vanish in a single night or with a letter like this." He held up the scroll before setting it back down.

"The last thing we need right now is to further complicate matters by salting old wounds or stoking old feelings of hate. As much as it pains me to do this, it falls upon the three of you to handle this task."

"Oh, this is just going to be a rollicking good time, isn't it?" chimed in Ko sarcastically. "So just who are we dealing with exactly?"

"They are called the Temaril," said Morgan. Ko's smile vanished almost instantly. Morgan continued speaking. "I realize it may seem vain, but all three of you have Sacaen heritage and clearly show it, even if you aren't necessarily familiar with all the cultural customs."

Karel could feel the Commander's eyes upon him; no doubt he'd heard from Farah about the whole Greeting of the Plains ordeal. He was more surprised to realize that Farah was actually Sacaen as well. He had thought she might have been with her black hair and knowledge of the customs but her blue eyes were so distinctively foreign that it seemed unlikely.

"This entire job hinges upon you three. Given the fragile predicament, if any of you wish to step down, speak now," said Morgan. Karel's eyes shifted to his friends but not one of the trio uttered a word.

"How soon do we leave?" asked Farah, breaking the silence. She seemed a bit more tense after the Commander's statements. He chalked it up more to the huge responsibility that now rested upon her shoulders.

"Immediately," said Morgan as he handed the scroll to her. "Further details regarding the clan and the job are contained within that scroll. Head to the stables located at the western gate. You will find two horses as well as Mara already saddled and prepped for the journey. If they are any bit as strong as that boastful stablemaster claimed, you should make it to the camp by nightfall." He let out a sigh and gave them a sad smile; in that one moment the Commander looked ten years older. "Good luck. If we are successful, I'll personally spot everyone for dinner."

Ko let out a soft laugh. "I'll make sure to remember that, Commander."

Despite Ko's parting words, the air was filled with an unusual tension. As the three departed, the feeling only seemed to build in Karel's gut until it felt like a ball of hot iron. He shoved the feeling aside and focused upon the much more pertinent task of not skewering the horse every time it nearly bucked him out of the saddle. He inwardly cursed; this was going to be a long ride.

-x-

The plains of Sacae were as iconic as the mountains of Bern or the sands of Nabata. These things weren't just landmarks or points of novelty; they defined and embodied the very land to which they belonged. A veritable sea of rolling green fields surrounded them. It was much shorter, about the half the height of the tall grass of the east, and suppler. They had taken a break halfway through the afternoon and Karel could have fallen asleep then and there. The grass was as good as or even better than any straw bed or mat he had ever slept on. Hills seemed to rise up like waves and then gently recede.

Sunset drew close as they crested another hill. Off in the distance they could see a plume of smoke gently waft into the sky. True to the stablemaster's words, their horses had managed to make the trip and get them to their destination by nightfall. The journey had been unusually silent, at least regarding Ko. Karel could not recall a time when Ko did not have some story or joke to share.

Between Ko and Farah's silence, Karel could feel the bit of concern he'd had at the start of the journey return. Was it the Commander's words regarding how it had to be those of Sacaen heritage? Or was there something else? Ko had been acting strange since they left the tavern. The closer they got, the thicker the air in the group seemed to become.

As they crested the next hill, they were able to spot a camp about a hundred meters ahead of them. It's size and shape reminded Karel greatly of his clan. Tents were strewn about in a circular formation and all entrances angled towards the center where a great fire roared amidst the growing darkness. Several horses were tied to wooden posts. From the abnormally large number of them, it was clear they were nomads.

The trio lingered a moment at the top of the hill. Ko looked down at the camp and let out a sigh. Farah pulled her red scarf from her mouth and extracted the scroll from a leather pouch. "This is it," she said. "According to this, the Temaril joined the Lorca only ten years ago." She unrolled the scroll and scanned over it. "Even though they've entered into a pact with the Lorca, they still consider themselves mostly independent from the tribe, hence why they live on the border of the Lorca's influence."

"They aren't going to be an easy clan to reason with," said Ko as he patted Mara's mane. "The Temaril are prideful to a bloody fault."

Farah glanced over at Ko. "I've been meaning to ask this but do you have some connection to this clan? You've been acting strange since we started received this mission."

_Glad to see I'm not the only one_, thought Karel.

Ko averted his gaze and didn't say anything for a moment. "Five years ago, when I was twelve, I was cast out of the Temaril," he said matter-of-factly. "The spirit elder made some inconceivable prophecy that I was going to one day destroy the clan and they were going to kill me the next day. My parents smuggled me out and I've been an exile since. No doubt they paid the price for their betrayal," he added grimly.

Karel was a bit surprised with how forthcoming Ko was with all of this. "No wonder you didn't seem happy about this job," he said as he gave the exiled nomad a pat on the back. "Here I thought you were still upset over that bet from our training session earlier today."

The three shared a small laugh and the tension in the air seemed to life a bit. "At this point though, it's all in the past. In a way, I don't resent being cast out. Certainly feel like I've had a much more fun life for it." His grin died down. "Still, this place isn't somewhere I've got a lot of happy memories as you can imagine. What's more, I'm technically supposed to be dead so there isn't much I can do to help."

"Then just keep the hood up and leave it to us," said Karel. "We've taken down a trade company. How hard can it be to talk to a clan elder?"

Ko nodded and gave Karel a genuine smile. "Thanks, mate." He looked Farah in the eye. "Keep the Commander's warnings close, Farah," he said, his voice much more grave. "These guys may seem like prideful bastards when you meet them but they're sharp as a falcon's eye and as quick to rip your throat out if you give them the chance."

Farah gave a nod. "Let's get going."

Their horses were halfway down the hill when a group of five riders intercepted them. They were all armed with short bows while the leader also kept a short blade near his knee.

"Hold," spoke the leader. He cast a stern and steely gaze over the trio. "Greetings travelers. What is your business in the territory of the Temaril?"

"Chief Hassar of the Lorca hired us to assist with the current situation regarding the raiders," explained Farah. An eyebrow on the leader twitched. "I have a scroll signed by Chief Hassar that I am more than welcome to present if you desire further proof."

The leader turned and muttered something inaudible to her to his subordinate. The man seemed to understand clearly enough though, and urged his horse in a gallop back to the camp. "We have been expecting you. If you'll follow me, we'll take you to meet with the elder of our tribe."

The horses took up a slow trot behind the Temaril men. Farah fell back a bit to where Ko and Karel were, closely following behind the patrol leader.

As they neared the camp perimeter, men armed with bows and short swords greeted them, forming a human hallway that led to the largest tent. A ceremonial wreath fashioned from colored leaves hung over the entrance. As the three dismounted and waited to be shown in, Karel could sense the uncomfortable feeling in his gut returning. The patrol leader returned and motioned for them to follow him into the tent.

-x-

Waiting was generally not a good sign, Morgan thought as he stood quietly outside the tent of Hassar. From his past experiences, waiting usually meant one of two things: really bad news or that things were still the same. He sincerely hoped it was the second but it was very likely the first. It was situations like this that made him recall the words of one of his instructors; hope for the best, plan for the worst.

_Truer words were never spoken_, thought Morgan with a bittersweet smile.

He had heard many tales about the Chief of the Lorca Tribe. The man was viewed by some as a progressive, revolutionary even. He had returned from Caelin some years ago with the marquess's daughter in hand. He had married her, much to his people's protest. Sacaens do not soil their blood with that of foreigners the outraged people of the plains proclaimed. Morgan had to laugh at the irony. How many Etrurians or Lycians had he heard say the exact same thing about the "savage dogs of Sacae?"

The Lorca had eventually accepted it, although that may have had to do with the chief's daughter's birth. He had heard that the child looked more Sacaen than Lycian, which was a great relief to his people. A smirk slipped across Morgan's face. No sooner had the matter of Hassar's marriage been put to rest than he agreed to open the Lorca and its territories to trade in a deal with Lord Dalton. The Sacaens protested once again but much to Morgan's surprise, the Lorca stood with Hassar. While he was sure there were pockets of resentment, most of the protest actually had come from outside the clan.

Let them complain. As far as Morgan could tell, Hassar was an impressive man and leader. Few dare to change the status quo and Hassar had done so twice in a short time. It was more than that though. The Lorca had gone from just a tribe of Sacae to the sole trade partner of the plains. Sacaen goods crossed borders and the Etrurians and Bernites responded in kind. The Lorca had gained a vast amount of wealth in a very short time and it showed. At least half the Lorcan males could read, something Morgan found utterly amazing. Even just the quality of life was much improved, from the food available to the clothes the Lorca wore upon their backs.

Five long minutes passed before the tent flap finally opened to reveal the leader of the Lorca. Hassar was a skinnier man than he expected, possessing more of a dancer's build than a warrior's stoutness. He had a goatee growing around his chin, just as green as his hair pulled back into a braid that rested between his shoulder blades. His navy blue robe only seemed to brighten the green and made his gray eyes appear even darker than before. He strode forth and offered his hand to the Commander.

"Commander Morgan, I presume?" asked Hassar. Morgan was impressed. The man spoke just like a proper Etrurian without any sign of the plains marring his tongue. Perhaps he had been taking lessons from Lord Dalton on the side.

Morgan took the outstretched hand and gave it a firm shake. "Indeed. It is an honor to finally meet you, Chief Hassar."

"The same to you. Dalton spoke most highly of you." Hassar pulled back the tent flap and motioned for Morgan to follow in after him. The interior of the tent reflected the blending of culture that had inevitably occurred thanks to Dalton's influence. Traditional Sacaen rugs lined the floor while an Etrurian tea set sat on a nearby table. Hassar took a seat upon a multicolored rug while Morgan took a seat across from him on a plain colored one.

"I'm flattered that the Count of Clayborne thinks so highly of us after one job," said Morgan cordially.

Hassar chuckled. "There is no need to stand on formality around here. I would prefer it if you were to just speak your mind. It is unusual to most Sacaens to have to, dance around the bush as it were. We prefer a straightforward approach to most things."

"Very well then," said Morgan. "In that case, why don't we cut to the matter at hand? Where do things stand right now between the Lorca and the Djute?"

"Things are rocky like the mountainside to the south," replied Hassar. "Both sides remain firm in their convictions and refuse to budge."

"So it's still one giant game of finger pointing," summed up Morgan. "I'm rather surprised by that. To accuse the Djute, the largest tribe in Sacae, of something as shameful as a raid is bold to say the least."

Hassar closed his eyes and nodded. "The Temaril do not abide by many of my tribe's laws or beliefs. Though they are a part of us by word, their hearts still remain independent."

"In your letter, the Temaril sounded like a rather, well, difficult clan to work with. I can't help but wonder why you would want such a clan as a part of the Lorca," said Morgan thoughtfully.

"How many summers have you been in Sacae?"

"This marks my tenth," answered Morgan.

"Then you should know that the Djute and the Lorca do not see eye to eye. Though we are all descended of Hanon, the Djute have often viewed themselves as the true heir of Sacae and its rightful ruler."

"I've heard things to that extent."

"At best, one could say the Djute tolerate the other tribes, but truthfully they would like nothing better than to bring both of us under their control," said Hassar bitterly. "They bear a formidable army, particularly with their nomads. The Temaril are a proud warrior clan of nomads, one of the few not under the control of the Djute or the Kutolah."

"It's a preventative measure in other words," said Morgan. He had heard many a tale of how the arrows from the Djute's mounted archers could blot out the sky. "You make pacts with other clans in an attempt to augment the size of the Lorca in hopes of deterring conflict. The Lorca are known more for their swordsmen than they are for their horsemen, am I right?"

"It is as you say," acknowledged Hassar. "The Temaril are prideful though, more so than the typical Sacaen," he added with a bit of a chuckle.

"What intrigued me the most in your letter was how quick the Temaril were to accuse the Djute. Surely they must have considered the possibility of a third party," said Morgan as he crossed his arms.

"While their leader, Temil, says such a possibility was considered and investigated, I do not know if I can believe him," said Hassar.

"I thought Sacaens told no lies," remarked Morgan.

Hassar flashed him a half-smile. "Sacaens may not tell lies, but that does not mean we speak in complete truths." Morgan chuckled. He was starting to see how this young nomad had managed to curry Dalton's favor. Morgan liked a man who knew better than to blindly accept the teachings of his people.

"In that case, I have to wonder: are the Temaril trying to provoke a war with the Djute?" asked Morgan, his eyes grave and tone serious.

"I do not believe that is their intention as much as it is a matter of inflated pride," said Hassar. "Both sides are accusing the other and insist upon recompense as demanded by their pride and honor. The problem is that if the man prods the lion enough it will eventually snap his neck."

"That's a rather gruesome image," commented Morgan. "You've met with the Djute then?"

"I have met with a rather agreeable commander named Xingke. He sides with our assessment that a third party is likely responsible for these attacks, and is doing all he can to prevent the situation from growing any further out of control. However, he also urged us to find the culprits soon otherwise nothing he says will matter."

"I see." Morgan's thoughts drifted back to Farah, Ko and Karel. He hoped for their success but already his mind was formulating a plan should things take a turn for the worse.

-x-

Things weren't going to go well. Ko didn't need the guidance of any spirits or the Commander's intelligence to tell from the tension in the air. He adjusted his hood, trying to make sure it shaded his face as much as it could.

The interior of the tent was fairly cramped. At one end, a small fire pit before him, the aged elder sat upon a mat woven from the greenest grass of the plains. His sunken eyes had glossed over to the point that they were almost completely white. His hair had lost all color and was now as white as a cloud, his long beard just as wispy as one. He was clothed in a red robe but even it couldn't hide his gaunt and thin frame. The man beside him was cut from the exact opposite cloth. His black eyes were hard and his jaw chiseled. His yellow tunic did little to try and hide the muscles underneath.

The eyes of everyone in the room were on Farah as she stood at the center. The temperature in the room seemed to drop almost instantly. Farah bowed low, her hands pressed together in the Greeting of the Plains. There were whisperings amongst the men in the tent.

"Most honorable elder, may the wisdom of Father Sky guide your visions and the might of Mother Earth empower your soul," she said slowly. It was an adapted version of the greeting, commonly used when addressing the elders of a clan.

"And may the spirits blessings be upon you," rasped the elder. "I have heard of your coming. You are here to assist us in the matter of these raids as Hassar of the Lorca has ordered, are you not?"

Farah nodded. "That is correct. We were hoping to meet with you in order to see if we could learn more about the situation."

"Do you truly believe you can resolve it where others before you have failed, child?" asked the elder in a somewhat condescending tone. The man next to the elder let out a disgusted snort. Ko inwardly winced. This wasn't a good sign.

"Elder, I mean no disrespect. I know that Chief Hassar's only wish is to resolve this matter as quickly and safely as possible. We both want the same thing: an end to these raids," said Farah slowly yet deliberately.

"Then are you proposing you would fight the Djute in our place?" asked the muscular man mockingly. The whispers in the room grew louder as some of the men sniggered.

Farah's gaze narrowed. "We would propose that we not fight the Djute at all and instead apprehend the true culprits behind these raids."

The sniggering died down and even the man's smile quickly faded. "I seem to remember a group of three men making a similar statement. That is until they turned up three days later with an arrow in each of their throats."

"Temil makes a point, child," said the elder flatly. "We have searched tirelessly for the culprits. We originally believed it to be the work of bandits. Do you think we would let these raiders slip by so easily? No, we followed their trail and it led right into Djute territory."

"I do not doubt the work of your trackers, but just because the trail led into Djute territory does not necessarily mean the Djute are responsible. It is entirely possible that a group of bandits is using the Djute's sphere of influence to protect themselves while they raid your people," explained Farah.

"You want further proof? The arrows used to kill those men were fletched with the same black feathers used in Djute arrows," said Temil. There were murmurs of agreement throughout the tent.

Farah took a deep breath. "I do not deny that the evidence seems to side with the Djute but surely you wouldn't object to us at least investigating ourselves."

"Obviously if those men couldn't do it, send a woman to fix it," said Temil, his voice like acid. Farah was clearly caught off guard by his comment, as she didn't know quite how to respond. "Honestly, just what kind of sick joke is Hassar playing with us? Is this how he honors our pact? It's bad enough that he sends some woman to do a man's job but for her to be a filthy half-breed as well is just insulting!" Temil spat into the fire, his face livid with rage. The murmurs had turned to full-blown jeering and shouts. The elder didn't say a word or make any attempt to restore the order.

_Not going to say anything, are you, you damn geezer?_ thought Ko bitterly.

Things were going south very fast. Ko saw Farah freeze up; Temil's words had cut deep. Karel stood off to the side, his hand resting near his sword but clearly unsure what to do. Ko knew though. They were done here; it didn't matter what any of them said. The Temaril were set in their belief that the Djute were responsible and there was nothing that was going to change their minds. They could shove it right under their faces and they'd still deny it just because it'd be too shameful to admit they had been wrong.

Ko stepped forth and laid a hand upon Farah's shoulder. "We should go. We've done all we can." He turned to Temil. "We thank you for your hospitality and help." His tone was flat but there was a scintilla of rage beneath his words.

Temil glared at Ko. "What a sad day it is, when men are tugged around at the leash of a weak woman," he said, just loud enough for the three guests to hear. The men erupted into laughter.

Karel came up and the three started to leave. Ko stopped at the door and turned back to face them. "Better a man who is willing to follow a woman than one who invites death by his pride." The room fell silent as Ko departed, never once looking back. Karel and Farah were already mounted on their horses. He called Mara and leapt onto her, wanting to put as much distance between himself and this camp as possible.

-x-

They rode north hard for about an hour. They were exhausted as were their horses but all three agreed that the further they got away from the Temaril before setting up camp, the better. They eventually came across a small stream and decided to set up camp before the night got any later. Within the hour they had a small fire going. Between much of their traveling and the events at the Temaril camp, Karel had forgotten that he had eaten almost nothing that day. When Ko handed him his ration of jerky and biscuits, he devoured it so fast he nearly choked. The night was silent save the sound of the bugs in the air and crackle of the fire.

They finished their meal prepared to rest. Tomorrow would be even more taxing than today. Ko said he was confident he could track these raiders but even he said knowing that these men were just north in Djute territory wasn't much to go off of. Eventually they just decided to save the issue for tomorrow and focus on getting some much needed sleep. Farah volunteered for the first night watch.

Karel woke up a few hours later. He let out a yawn and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. After a stretches to wake up his muscles he went to relieve Farah from her shift. She sat off near the stream, her legs pulled close against her body. The red scarf had been pulled tight against her face. Wordlessly, Karel took a seat next to her.

Neither moved for a minute. Karel saw her shiver as a wind blew past them.

He wanted to say something. He felt like he needed to say something. The problem was he didn't know how to start. Did he just ask how she was doing? Did he act like nothing had happened? He was starting to resent his lack of training in social etiquette or just general social ability. In the clan, he never needed to express himself and doing so often gave poor results, particularly when dealing with his father. Somewhere in the corner of his mind, he could hear his uncle laughing at "shy little Karel."

"You're going to get a cold if you sit out here like that," he said softly. She just nodded. Now that he sat next to her, he was able to see her eyes. She almost looked like she did when she was deep in thought but there was an unmistakable tinge of melancholy to them.

Karel exhaled before taking off his cloak and placing it around her shoulders. She pulled it a bit closer around her body. He looked up at the sky but was disappointed to see the clouds covered some of the stars.

She let out a sigh. "Not going to ask anything?"

He traced the dew from a blade of grass between his fingers. "I remember someone once told me it was an unspoken mercenary policy not to pry."

Though he couldn't see her mouth through the scarf, her eyes seemed to brighten somewhat. "I didn't think that would be something to stop you anyway."

"Probably not," said Karel. He looked up over the plains. "There's a part of me that really wanted to punch Temil. Bastard reminds me more than I want to admit of my brother."

"Get in line." Karel allowed himself a small smile at that comment.

"Well, in all fairness, I figured you had first call on Temil but I'm first in line on my brother so you'll have to wait your turn on that one."

She shook as she laughed a bit and let the sound of the cicadas fill the night once again. Slowly she seemed to relax, crossing her legs and letting her arms rest in her lap. He knew there was a question on the tip of his tongue, one that was begging to be asked. He remembered the conversation the two had shared in the marketplace during the Fortune's Arc operation.

"_Here's a question for you. How much does anyone actually know about your past?"_

_"I guess it just never crossed my mind."_

He exhaled. "I won't ask," Karel said slowly. He could feel Farah's gaze. His eyes followed the faint trickle of water that glistened in the moonlight. "It's your problem. A problem you aren't ready to share yet." He straightened his shoulders. "Right now, I have no right to know and I can't do anything without dirtying your heart in the process." He let out a sigh. "So I'll wait."

He turned so his gaze met hers. He gave her a half-smile. "When you're ready to talk, when you think it's okay, I'll be there. Until then, I'll wait."

Farah's eyes widened slightly. She turned her gaze back to the stream and pulled the scarf from her mouth to rest once again around her neck. She had a faint smile on her lips. "Yeah. Thank you, Karel."

She took off his cloak and held it back out to him. He accepted it and slipped it back over his shoulders. He gave her one last grin and a nod and she returned to the campsite to get some rest. Karel took a seat by the stream, letting his thoughts flow like the water before him. He didn't even notice the sudden silence from the absence of Ko's snoring or the faint smile on the nomad's face.

"Not too bad, Karel," he muttered. "A little rusty, but not bad at all." He turned over and let sleep take him once again.

-x-

The next morning came early complete with a cloudless sky and a bright sun. The three seemed to be in much better spirits as well. Farah drew up the scroll and a map of the nearby area and began discussing the best course of action. They needed to locate the base of the raiders and then report back to the Commander and Hassar. While they knew the base was somewhere to the north, it was hard to determine exactly where.

"Well, it would have to be somewhere that they could strike both the Djute and the Temaril meaning the travel time would have to be about the same," said Ko as he munched on a biscuit. Crumbs clung to his mouth and shirt like glue.

"I agree," said Farah, her fingers tracing over the map. She had drawn a light circle to show the Djute's area as well as the Lorca's. "There aren't any definitive landmarks on this map but if I were to take a guess, I would think they would be around here." She pointed to a valley located just on the edge of the Djute circle. "It's not terribly far from either but it's still distant enough that it would explain why the Temaril ignorantly didn't give further pursuit."

"Is there anything particular there?" asked Karel. His sword lay across his lap as he ran a whetstone across its length. In the sunlight the edge gleamed like a mirror.

"It just looks like a valley, but there may be a shrine or some ruins that just weren't considered worth the mapmaker's time," suggested Farah.

Ko leapt up from his seat, spilling crumbs all around him. "Let's get going then. The sooner we get this done, the better."

They rode hard to the northwest. The weather seemed even have the horses in a good mood as they had to stop less frequently than on the journey over. As they continued to move north, Karel noticed how the land became harder. The grass seemed to grow longer and tougher as well, much like the grass around his clan.

Ko rode ahead and stopped at the top of the hill. He motioned for them to join him. When they got up, he had dismounted and was examining the ground.

"Find something?" asked Farah.

He nodded. "Take a look at the grass. It's much flatter than the surrounding stuff." He ran his fingers gently along the dirt. "This dirt is also much harder and compact than the other stuff. It looks like something, maybe a wagon, was through here."

"How recent do you think they came through here?"

Ko straightened his back with a sigh of relief. "If I had to guess, within the last day. I think we're close."

The nomad led the way, guiding them over another set of hills until finally they reached one that sloped down into a deep valley. At the base was a set of ruins, leftovers from a village most likely. It was clear even from this distance though, that the village was anything but dead. Men stalked around outside and there were some horses tethered to a large set of wagons. Some more horses ran freely in a nearby fenced pen.

"Jackpot," said Ko with a grin.

"There's quite a few from the looks of things," said Farah. "I count ten men alone outside. Who knows how many more are down there?"

"Do we know for sure this is it?" asked Karel.

"Big burly guys armed with swords camping out in a burned out village? Oh yeah, that's just how the Djute live," said Ko sarcastically. Karel glared at the nomad.

"Let's get closer," said Farah after a moment. The three dismounted from their horses and snuck around to the west of the village. Most of the men were gathered at the east side along with the wagons. Now that they were closer, Karel could see just how long gone the village was. The wood frames of the houses were still covered in ash and what hadn't burned down was rotting to pieces. They stayed close to a partially intact wall until they got close enough to get within earshot.

"…don't care what you think! Boss says to move the goods, you better goddamn move the goods!" roared a man. "The next time we catch you screwin' around with the merchandise, I'll have yer head on a pike. Ya got that?"

"Y-yessir," mumbled another voice weakly.

"Get outta my sight," said the first man. There was the sound of scrambling feet and then silence. A new set of footsteps could be heard shortly thereafter, these much heavier and more deliberate.

"Boss," said the first man, his tone suddenly much more fearful.

"How are we doing? We can't keep our customers waiting all day," came a guttural voice. It sounded almost like a growl than someone speaking.

"Aside from that twat, we're doin' fine. We had a good haul on the last one. Djute keep some good merchandise. Five fine wenches. Easily make us a couple hundred gold each and that's not even some of the weapons we took from those damn savages." He let out a boisterous laugh.

"That didn't answer my question," spoke the boss. The laughter died almost instantly.

"Er, right. W-we should be ready to ship out by tonight. If we drive 'em hard enough, we should reach Bulgar by mornin'."

"See to it that it's done, or else it'll be your head on a pike."

"R-right away, boss," said the man nervously. The footsteps died away as both men left.

Farah gave a nod and the three followed her. They retraced their steps out of the valley until they found their horses.

"Well I think that resolves any question that these are our guys," said Ko. "Question is what now?"

"Now we need to contact the Commander. If we leave now we-"

"Hey! Just who the hell are you?" barked a voice. The three instinctively spun around and saw a large warrior, a battered steel sword in hand, glaring at the three. "Kids like you should know better than to snoop around adult matters." He turned around and called out. "Boys!"

Before the man could say anything Ko had already drawn his short bow and let an arrow fly. It found its mark in the man's thick neck. He dropped his sword, clawing at the projectile lodged in his throat as he choked to death on his own blood. He dropped with a thud just as more voices came to investigate.

"Oh boy," said Ko. "Now what?"

Farah mounted her horse. "Change of plans. Ko, you ride south to let the Commander know. We'll ride to the east towards Bulgar to draw their attention away from you."

A group of four bandits came into view and, upon seeing their comrade dead, immediately charged at the three mercenaries. Ko gave a curt nod and leapt on Mara before spurring her into a full gallop. Farah and Karel took off to the east, the men hounding them. Karel's horse suddenly let out a painful whinny and tumbled to the ground, flinging Karel from the saddle. He looked back and saw an arrow had lodged itself deep in the horse's rear thigh. Another bolt came for him but he swatted it out of the air with his sword. Farah brought her horse back around and held out a hand.

"Grab on!" He did so and turned to deflect two more arrows from taking out Farah's horse as well. Karel looked one last time upon his horse and almost felt a pang of regret as they swiftly left it behind. The sound of a horn rang out loud and clear.

Though the bandits chasing them on foot had given up the chase, both knew that more were on the way. Farah's horse was audibly breathing much harder than it had earlier, no doubt from the extra passenger. They reached a flat portion of the plain covered with thick tall grass when the horse practically collapsed in the grass, completely exhausted.

Karel sheathed his sword and cursed. "That stablemaster is going to have my leg for losing his horse."

"It's unfortunate, but it can't be helped," said Farah as she gave the horse a pat on the side.

"How far behind do you think they are?" he asked as he glanced back.

Farah nodded. "Given the horn and the horses at their disposal, I'd say five minutes at best."

"Great. And we have a completely beat horse that isn't going to be moving anytime soon," said Karel, the frustration clear in his voice.

The faint sound of something akin to thunder echoed behind them. Both turned and knew the bandits would be upon them shortly. Farah took a look back at the horse. It was still breathing heavily and likely wouldn't last long, the approaching thunder growing like an imminent storm.

-x-

Irrin and his men were close now; he could feel it. It had been less than five minutes since the horn call went out and those two couldn't have gotten far with one horse. He gave a call to his men and they drew their weapons as they charged over the next hill. Almost as soon as they did though, he pulled the horse to a stop. Lying ahead of them was a lone horse lying upon the open grass, clearly too tired to move. Irrin held up his hand and made a clicking sound with his mouth. His horse slowly walked up, the rest of the men close behind.

_What the hell is going on?_ he thought. _They can't have seriously thought to try and go on foot could they?_

He looked around and at first couldn't see anything. Then his eyes caught sight of it. It was faint and almost blended in with the grass but there was the unmistakable flutter of a cloak in the grass. He held his finger over his mouth and gestured to the grass ahead of them barely two hundred paces. The men leered and readied their weapons. Irrin gestured for the last two men to remain behind with the other horse.

For a second there was silence, then he slammed his heels into the horse, kicking it into a full gallop right away. The other men followed, the horse hooves raining down like thunder upon the plains. Irrin held out his poleaxe, prepared to scoop the heads of these trespassers clean off and leave their bodies to be trampled by the other men. They closed in and he made his pass along with the rest of his men.

Something wasn't right. His axe cut through the grass and the cloak like it was nothing. The edge was spotless as it had been this morning. The rest of the men looked at their weapons, equally confused. Angrily, Irrin dismounted and stomped over to the cloak, yanking it out from the grass. There was nothing.

Suddenly he heard a shout from his men. He looked up and saw the two men he left behind in a crumpled pile and the two intruders on their horses. He cursed as he savagely grabbed the reins and pulled himself back up, barking out orders to catch the two.

It turned out surprises came in twos today, Irrin discovered. The riders were charging straight at them. He sneered. Let them come. Arrogant sops like them may have caught him off guard once but not again. He raised his poleaxe when suddenly one of the riders pointed directly at him and his men. A fireball roared above her before speeding to the ground beneath their feet. It exploded in a crimson blaze; Irrin could've sworn the blast seared his eyebrows off. The horses panicked and reared up in terror, throwing him and the other riders from their mounts. Before he could get the horses back under control, another fireball landed nearby, causing the horses to scatter.

As the smoke cleared he ordered his men to gather up the horses. Irrin could only curse as he watched the two ride away. He shivered, knowing full well what Boss Hearst would have in store for him when he returned to tell him they'd failed.

-x-

Hearst wasn't happy, not in the slightest. To learn the shipment was behind was bad enough but to then learn that a bunch of brats had slipped away was even worse. No one was sure who they were. Frankly it didn't matter if they were Lorca, Djute, or sellsword. They were forced to abandon the camp. The idiots under him said would find a new one. They didn't get it. None of them did.

Hearst didn't pride himself on being a genius; he liked to think of himself as a very gifted pragmatist. When they had raided that Lorcan clan he had nearly thought they were done for when their trackers were less than a day behind. Then suddenly they disappeared. Only later did he understand why. They feared the Djute and in turn, these prideful savages were far to quick to blame their feared nemesis for the deeds he and his men had committed. It was in that moment that he saw a golden opportunity. While the Djute were hot with anger over the accusation, he led his men on a raid of one of their camps. He watched as the anger spilled over and the accusations were hurled across both camps.

He had made a killing in profits with this little operation and the best part was no one suspected him. These clans were too caught up in their prideful politics to even think he could be responsible.

He was so loathe to cast it all aside.

There was, however, no choice. Money could always be found elsewhere. If he lost his life though, then that was it.

He sat on the wagon, his great axe strapped across his back as the caravan trudged under the moonlit sky. A caravan like this during the day was bound to attract unwanted attention, particularly its cargo. He had nearly strangled Irrin when he realized they were going to have to abandon selling the goods at Bulgar. It was too risky. He couldn't be sure just how many people those brats had told and just who would be after him. No, he'd been forced to change the course for Sassair. It was out of the way and remote enough from the three tribes that even with their cargo they wouldn't attract too much attention.

His gaze went to the sky and his steeled expression showed a trace of confusion. He squinted his eyes and tried to determine just what it was. Stars almost appeared to be winking out in the night or splitting in twain. At first he thought it was a sign of morning coming soon but something wasn't quite right. Suddenly his eyes widened in realization as a volley of arrows descended upon the caravan.

-x-

The first round had been fired and already the shouts of panic and confusion filled the late night air. Karel exhaled and waited with the small squad of swordsman from the Lorca. Following his and Farah's escape, the two had rode almost straight to Bulgar, although they had to take a roundabout way of doing it. Farah was still worried they were being pursued. It had worked in the end; by the time they neared Bulgar, they ran straight into Ko and the Commander along with a group of fifteen Lorca led by Hassar personally.

Much to their surprise, the bandits hadn't arrived when they expected. It was only thanks to Ko and Hassar's tracking skills that they'd managed to determine their new course to the northeast. It was nearly morning now, but all their work had not been for naught.

They had set up an ambush along the sides of the road. The very cover of night that these bandits had been hoping to use to shield their shady deals now worked to cover the fire of their arrows. The Lorcan archers loosed another round into the caravan. In this darkness, it was unlikely that these arrows would all strike their marks but that wasn't that point; it was to sow confusion amongst their ranks and make them easier targets.

Morgan and Farah raised their tomes and began chanting. They released a series of fireballs around the wagons without actually setting them aflame. The fire formed a wall, cutting off the bandits from their cargo and also from each other. Hassar gave the order. Karel and the men charged in, taking the front guard of the caravan completely by surprise. Drake and Gil led the rear assault team, effectively trapping the bandits between a textbook pincer assault. One of the Lorcan swordsman broke away and charged into the middle only to be sent flying like a rag doll to the side.

A hulking man, armed with a great axe almost as long as he was tall, started barking out orders before swatting away another Lorcan swordsman like an annoying fly. The man's body rippled with muscle. In the moonlight, it seemed to make the numerous scars that covered his body appear even paler than normal. The giant turned his attention to Karel and swung his axe. Karel dodged to the side as the axe planted itself in the dirt.

"Hearst, they're everywhere!" yelled a man. The giant snarled at the man before shoving him aside brusquely. He was about to crush another Lorcan swordsman when suddenly an arrow planted itself in his shoulder. He turned around and removed the arrow by hand as another just sailed past his ear. Karel saw Hassar, short bow in hand, launch another shot before discarding both weapons and drawing his sword.

Hearst blocked the next arrow with his axe, which was just what Hassar wanted. He slammed his sword against the axe, temporarily pinning the weapon against the giant. The sight couldn't have been stranger. Hassar might as well have been holding a stick against Hearst's axe. Hell, Hassar was a stick next to the giant.

With a grunt of effort, Hearst shoved away Hassar but the chief was already moving to his flank. In an attempt to cut him off, Hearst swung to great axe in a crescent horizontal arc. Hassar nimbly slipped under it and swooped in. His sword came up and it was coated in blood. Hearst let out a yell of pain through grit teeth as he dropped his axe. Hassar's sword had not completely cut through the man's tree trunk-like arm, but it appeared to have cut all the way down to the bone.

Karel glanced around and saw that what men weren't dead had fled from the area. Morgan crossed the distance and stood next to Hassar. The chief held his blade right up against the neck of Hearst but he had not dealt the final blow.

"Open the wagons," ordered Hassar. Karel felt a tug on his sleeve and saw it was Farah urging him to follow her. He went all the way to the back where they had opened up the wagons and had to work to cover the surprise on his face. He had suspected it was something like this from the earlier conversation but it was far worse than he'd imagined.

Chained to the walls of the wagon were a number of girls, some clad in rags while other clad in nothing at all. The sight reminded him far too much of the Iorin incident and he could feel a cold anger well up inside him.

"Sex trafficking," said Farah in a flat tone. "Despicable."

Karel steadied his breathing as he and the others set to unchaining the girls. Many of them shrieked or backed away when they saw him. Even when he tried to reassure them that he was their ally, it did little to allay the fear in their eyes. It was no different than how Alli or any of the other girls had looked after the Iorin got their hands on them.

He went back out and saw Hassar still had his blade trained upon Hearst, Morgan right by his side.

Hassar spoke softly. "What you have done to these girls and my people is unforgivable." He raised the blade. "For it you will be punished." In a sudden move he finished the cut into Hearst's arm and completely severed the limb, causing the man scream in agony before collapsing to the ground unconscious from the shock. "The hand that has taken the lives of so many has been reclaimed by the Father and Mother."

He turned his gaze to Morgan. "If you would do me the favor of stopping the bleeding."

Morgan nodded and withdrew his Fire tome. He held his hand over the bloody stump and began chanting. The wound suddenly burst aflame for a few second before ceasing. The wound had covered over with burned flesh, but the bleeding had stopped. Hassar handed him an elixir and he poured a third of the bottle into Hearst's mouth. The magical liquid worked instantly, healing the burnt and scarred flesh and replacing it clean, unmarred skin.

The bandit leader coughed and rolled over, trying to right himself and failing when he tried to use his missing arm. When Hearst finally did stand, he glared at Hassar, his eyes burning like red-hot coals. "You will regret sparing my life. You may think you're doing a favor but I swear one day it'll be your undoing." Without another word the man climbed onto a horse and took off to the south, towards the mountains that reached like pointed spires for the skies.

"Was that wise?" asked Morgan. "A man like him is unlikely to ever be grateful for your generosity."

Hassar sheathed his blade. "I have already seen enough blood to last a lifetime, Morgan. While your words may be true, I will not murder a man in cold blood."

"As you will," said Morgan. He glanced in the direction Hearst had taken off in. "That's the Talivar Mountain range, is it not?"

"Aye," said Hassar. "A rough place where few have been able to survive. Perhaps he'll manage where others have wasted away." He let out a long sigh. "I thank you much for your assistance, Morgan."

He turned to face the rest of the company. "Many thanks be upon all of you. Were it not for your help, I fear to think of what this situation could have developed into."

Ko glanced back at the girls who were shivering in the cool early morning air. "What's going to happen to them?"

"You do not need to worry," said Hassar. "I will see to it that they are returned to their respective clans. No doubt both the Temaril and the Djute will be happy to have their people back."

"Not to mention that ought to cool some heads quickly," said Morgan with a reassuring grin. Hassar returned the gesture. He gave the company one last nod before he motioned for his men to lead the women back towards the Lorcan camp, leaving the mercenary company behind. Morgan gave a motion for everyone to head back home, prompting a series of grins and groans about the early hours.

Karel watched the girls disappear off in the distance and then looked off in the direction Hearst had disappeared. His left hand was still tight upon his sword.

"Something the matter?" He jumped a bit when Farah asked the question.

"No, I'm just…remembering," he said after a moment. "To hold someone's life in your hand and to choose not to kill, I think that takes even greater strength sometimes than to bring the blade down yourself."

"Karel?"

Karel let out a sigh and finally relaxed the grip on his sword. "It's nothing. We should get going or else the rest of the company is going to leave us behind."

He felt her hand tug lightly on the sleeve of his robe. Her piercing blue eyes looked straight into his gray ones. "You said it the other night and I'm going to say it now. I'm not going to ask. I probably don't have a right to know, but if you ever need to talk, I'm here. This goes both ways, don't forget that."

He could feel a sincere smile tug at his lips. "Ah, thanks."

_A/N: Holy cow was this long. So, some quick notes. The bit with the spirits and the elders is all over the place in Sacaen supports from both FE6 and FE7. If you see a parallel somewhat between Ko and another character from a FE game, that is intentional. Now for some of the more cultural things. Farah's treatment at the hands of the Temaril may seem particularly harsh but if you look at Karla's supports, she states that no matter where she went, women were always viewed as beneath men and were not even allowed to fight or hold a sword. And of course there's the whole point that the Lorcan survivors wouldn't follow Lyn because she was a woman. Frankly, the fact that women fight in a medieval inspired world such as FE is kind of remarkable in of itself but also somewhat inconsistent, both from a historical perspective and even in game (women fight but we also get conversations that say women shouldn't be able to). There are exceptions like Ilia but that one actually makes much more sense than some of the other ones. I digress.  
_

_Sacaens are highly anti-foreigner in this (or at least a large number of them are). I don't think there are many conversations that say this directly but it would make sense to me, particularly given how harshly the rest of the world treats them. I don't have too much else to add that's particularly noteworthy here. I would like to express a sincere thank you to everyone who has been reading this and especially those that have reviewed. It means a lot and I appreciate it. Until next chapter!  
_


	9. Shadows

Chapter 8: Shadows

Morgan sat patiently at the table of the tavern, his fingers drumming across the worn wood surface. He took another swig of ale from his mug and cast a look outside. It was already high noon and he was starting to get a bit impatient. The door to the tavern creaked open as William greeted the landlady. William caught sight of him and gave him a lopsided grin before grabbing a chair at the table.

"Barkeep, a mug for me and one more for another," called William happily.

"You don't need to get me a drink," said Morgan as he raised his glass, "although the gesture is appreciated."

"Unfortunately the second drink isn't for you, my friend," said Will. Morgan looked clearly confused. Will leaned in closer and whispered so only he could hear. "Lord Dalton will be here within the hour."

Morgan took another drink. "Is there a reason?" He made sure to keep his voice low. While it wasn't scandalous or anything of the sort for a noble to be in Bulgar, advertising such a thing was just asking for the various thieves and lowlives to try and mug the man. Best not to create trouble when easily avoided.

"There's been some issues with the trade caravan of late and when he heard I was meeting with you he said he wanted to as well," explained William. He thanked the waitress, a cute freckled girl of fourteen, and took a drink of his ale.

"Don't I feel special," remarked Morgan sarcastically. "I suppose I can't complain. No one pays like a lord." He turned his gaze back to William. "Still doesn't explain what held you up in the first place."

William reached into his cloak and pulled out a letter, his face beaming. "It's a letter from my precious wittle daughter. She wrote it herself! Can you believe it? Daddy's so proud of her!"

Morgan did his best to bite back his tongue as William gave the letter a kiss. "They do grow up fast, or so they say. Did the letter just come in today?"

William nodded, a goofy grin still plastered on his face. "Elise helped her with some of the letter but she's doing so well. Already in the academy in Aquelia and near the top of her class. There really is nothing that compares to the feeling of being a father," he finished with a content sigh.

"I wouldn't know," said Morgan, somewhat annoyed. William was rereading the letter, clearly not paying attention. The mercenary let out a sigh. "Good lord, Will, I get that you're proud of your little girl but can you not fawn over her every time we meet? It seems like she's all I ever hear about anymore."

Will laughed nervously and tucked the letter away. "I won't apologize for being a very happy father but I can do my best to tone it down for my oldest friend."

"I suppose that's something," said Morgan sarcastically.

"I should have a picture of her for you next time. Apparently Elise and Marie are getting their portrait painted and they'll be able to send me a sketch."

Morgan let out a sigh, realizing it was useless. "How much longer are you stationed out here?"

William sobered up somewhat as he leaned back in his chair and took another drink. "I have one more year before I can return to Aquelia. It's not as bad as you think. I have months, usually during the winter season, that I'm exclusively back home with Elise and my little girl." He pocketed the letter only for his eyes to light up. "I just remembered, I'm not the only one that gets good news today."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

William pulled out another letter and handed it to Morgan. Much to his surprise, it was addressed to him. He looked over at William, his expression one of disbelief. "Will, is it?" he asked hesitantly.

He gave his friend a big grin. "It is. Are you going to read it?"

Morgan fingered the edges of the envelope. He desperately wanted to but stopped himself. Reluctantly he tucked the letter into the inner breast pocket of his cloak. "I will, just not here."

"I don't see why to wait but you do what you want to do. Just don't go losing it," he added teasingly.

"I can assure you I won't let it out of my sight."

"I'll hold you to that," said Will and the two clinked glasses. "So I hear things have been better for you of late."

"We've been getting better jobs and pay if that's what you mean," said Morgan. "Otherwise life is the same as it has always been these last ten years."

"Ten years," said Will. "When you say it like that it's just two words, but," he stopped and sighed. "We're getting _old_, my friend."

"Don't you suddenly have a midlife crisis on me over a drink, 'Dad,'" warned Morgan.

Will waved it aside. "Seriously. What happened to the years? I still remember when the two of us were full of hot blood and ready to take on the world. Those days back at the academy seem like another life sometimes."

"Did the academy ever fix the hole you put in the building or did they decide to preserve it and your infamy?" asked Morgan with a humorous grin.

"Hey! That was an accident!" shot back Will. "Besides, I seem to remember someone thinking it was a good prank to set the dean's robes on fire."

Morgan leaned back with a grin. "I'd almost forgotten that one. Took the old codger a few minutes to realize he was the source of the fire and by then it had started to singe his hair."

"They never did catch you for it, you know that?"

Morgan merely laughed, prompting a grin and soon both were laughing aloud as they reminisced about the past that seemed so long ago. They were so caught up in their memories that they lost track of time. The door swung open once again, bringing the story session to an end.

The Count of Clayborne had clearly taken measures to blend in with the common folk. Whether it worked was debatable though. His tunic was of a supple black material but against his plain leather gloves and boots it didn't stand out terribly. The only truly distinguishing article of clothing was his traveler's cloak, a faint blue that seemed to have gold sewn into the very fabric. The lord gave the two a quick nod of the head and took a seat with them. William slid the mug across to the lord and he happily drank from the glass.

Morgan offered his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lord Dalton." His voice was soft enough so that only those around the table could hear.

"No, the pleasure is mine," replied the count as he shook Morgan's hand vigorously. "I realize that I am interrupting but I hope you can forgive the intrusion."

"It's not a problem at all, milord," said Morgan in a cordial tone. "Besides, I could use a break from Will's incessant praise of his little girl."

"Ah, have you heard from Marie?" asked Dalton politely.

Will nodded. "You flatter me, milord, but yes. Marie is doing wonderfully and is excelling in her first year at the academy."

"I'm surprised!" said Dalton, his curls bouncing lightly as he took another drink. "I had thought the academy was for boys alone."

"It used to be until Mage General Linae arrived," said Morgan. "It was during our time at the academy that girls were first allowed to enroll, but even then I think at first it was only in magical arts. Usually it was healing."

"Well, you still won't find many girls in the sword academy," said Will with a laugh. The other two chuckled.

Morgan still had a grin as his mirth died. "Will had mentioned that you wished to see me, milord. Is there something I can do to help?"

"Straight to the point, I see," pointed out Lord Dalton. The man still had a gentle smile. There was no denying the man's pedigree, Morgan thought. The golden blonde curls framed his face and his green eyes perfectly. The lord had to be in his late thirties now, yet he had the face of a man half his age.

"Recently we opened up a trade route through Sacae that leads to Lycia. It significantly cuts down on the time of travel for merchants," explained Lord Dalton.

"I believe I remember hearing something like that from Hassar," said Morgan thoughtfully. "It runs from Fort Beryl, through the middle of the plains, and then cuts through a mountain pass straight into Araphen."

"Precisely," confirmed Lord Dalton. "We had no problems for some time, almost a month to be precise. However, our last caravan was attacked by a group of Djute."

Morgan slowly lowered his mug and narrowed his eyes. "Are you certain?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Our caravans always have guards to fend off bandits. My wagons were beset by a bunch of mounted archers bearing the mark of the red falcon!" finished Dalton emphatically.

"I see." Morgan leaned forward onto the table, his mouth hidden by his hands. "That's some pretty damning evidence. I don't understand though. Why would the Djute suddenly attack your caravans? It hasn't been a problem in the past, has it?"

"In the past most trade routes ran along the southern mountain range and then into the territory controlled by the Lorca. With the Lorca's expansion thanks to some clans joining in recent years, we were hoping we could open a new path through the plains which are much easier and quicker to traverse than the mountain path," explained Will. "This route through the plains is fairly recent and was potentially risky because of how close it ran to Djute territory."

"The Djute do not tolerate my wagons or anyone else's in their area," said Lord Dalton. "They hate any foreigners who meddle in their lands."

"The Djute's hatred of foreigners was something I was well aware of," said Morgan with a sigh. "Do you think that in the midst of the raids a month ago the new trade route went unnoticed?"

Will nodded. "I think that's part of it. The route was confirmed a month ago but it hasn't really been put to use until about the last two weeks."

"The Djute are likely on high alert as well after those raiders that were hiding within their sphere," said Morgan, more to himself than anyone at the table. "How bad was the damage?"

"Quite bad, I'm afraid to say," sighed the count. "We lost the entire shipment and at least half the guard. It pains me to say that one of the wagons was transporting weapons we were intending to sell in Lycia."

Morgan finished his glass and finally asked the question. "So how exactly do we fit into all this?"

"I am sending another shipment through," started Lord Dalton. "But this one is very sensitive. Marquess Araphen is getting rather feisty since the last shipment failed so this entire one is an arms deal."

Morgan didn't need to be told just how bad it would be for everyone if the Djute raided that. Weapons were costly and that loss could severely hurt the count's holdings. Furthermore, the last thing anyone wanted to was to supply an aggressive enemy with even more weapons to use.

"I realize you've had some pretty big and even strange jobs from milord in the past, but this one is pretty straightforward," said Will. "We just want you and the company to escort the caravan and make sure that nothing harms it. More to the point, we only need you to escort it to Bulgar. Once we're clear of the Djute, you and the rest of your mercenaries are done."

"Glorified caravan guards, is that it?" clarified Morgan. Both of them nodded. "Wouldn't it be easier to just use the old routes rather than chance it again with the Djute?"

"It would add almost a week to the time and we cannot afford to be late," said Dalton adamantly.

"We're also meeting with Chief Hassar to see if he can perhaps shed some light on the matter. If it is a problem, we're hoping he might be able to resolve the matter."

"That…isn't likely," said Morgan. "Hassar described the Lorca and the Djute as akin to oil and water. The two hate each other. The only reason they might listen to him is because he returned the girls taken in the raids back but even then I can't see any agreement lasting terribly long."

"Perhaps it is as you say, but we have to try," said Dalton.

"Will you help us, Morgan?" asked Will.

The mercenary commander let out a sigh. "Yeah, we'll take it."

"Thank you," said Will. "The caravan will depart from Fort Beryl in a week. We need you and your company there and ready to leave when the caravans are prepared."

"I'm just hoping for an uneventful hike through the plains," said Morgan, half joking. The three talked for a moment longer until the time came for them to part ways. Morgan left his coin upon the table and bade the two farewell, his mind turning over the job he had just accepted.

-x-

"So remind me again why we're here?" asked Ko in annoyance. "I'm dying out in this heat!"

"Because we're getting paid a lot of money to babysit a bunch of merchants," countered Carmine. "Not to mention they already have a guard on top of us. I don't see what's to complain. It's just one big jaunt across the plains."

"But it's so _boring_," the nomad replied in an exasperated tone.

"Ya gotta be kidding me," said Gil, a piece of grass between his teeth. "Mercenaries would kill for a cushy job like this, 'specially with what we're getting paid. If that's how it is, you go find some bandit camp you can risk your neck over and I'll gladly take your cut."

"You don't need to be so harsh about it," said Ko.

Gil let out a huff. "It ain't bein' harsh. It's bein' realistic."

"Yeah, yeah," said Ko as he dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

"You're still such a greenhorn sometimes, Ko," laughed Carmine. "Look at Karel. He's been in only a quarter of the time you have and he isn't saying a peep. You could learn something from him."

Karel glanced over his shoulder. "I'm not sure Ko knows how to make it through trips like this without complaining about them half the time."

Carmine and Gil both laughed, much to Ko's irritation. "Ha-ha, let's all laugh at the nomad," he retorted flatly. "C'mon Farah, even you have to admit this job is drier than the air right now."

"Leave me out of it, Ko," said Farah as she looked back. "You should take a lesson from Gil. We don't always get easy jobs like this so you should just enjoy it."

Ko continued to grumble but chose to keep the rest of his comments to himself. Karel couldn't hide a half-smile at the nomad's antics. While he was sure no one would ever admit it, this job _was_ dull. He knew it was easy pay but they'd been on the plains for two solid days of travel now and there just wasn't anything exciting. It seemed strange to crave a job where you got to risk your neck but it certainly made the time go faster.

"Feh, kid talks like he's got the world under his fingers sometimes," muttered Gil. "Compared to what I used to deal with, this is a blessing."

"Were you a mercenary before you joined the company?" asked Karel.

"You could say that. Worked a number of jobs in the cantons of Lycia before coming here," said Gil. "Pay was better up here and it was easier to find work so I stayed around."

"How very…mercenary of you," said Farah.

The man shrugged. "I do what I have to in order to get by. I ain't a knight or any of that fairy tale junk. I'm just a guy tryin' to get by in the world."

There was a frankness to Gil that Karel had grown to like. The man was blunt as a rock but he could always be counted on to say what he thought on the matter and he didn't give a damn if anyone agreed with him or not.

"What he's really saying is that he's too old to ever try and find another occupation," said Carmine with a grin. Gil just rolled his eyes.

"You have something else in mind beyond the company?" asked Farah.

Carmine fiddled with a loose strand of crimson hair. "Well, maybe. Depends on how things go."

"You mean depends on what the Commander does," said Gil flatly.

Carmine stopped fiddling and glared at Gil. "Just what do you mean by that?"

The man chuckled as he ran a hand through his pale green hair. "Play the fool if you want. It doesn't change the truth."

Carmine glared at the man but he just closed his eyes and started humming a tune. "The nerve of that guy, I swear," she grumbled. "Can't stand how he acts like he knows everything when it comes to this stuff."

"Well, Gil has been with the company since it started," offered Karel. "He's certainly right up there with Drake and the Commander for experience."

Carmine let out a huff. "Hey, I've been in this group for eight years and don't you forget it!"

Karel held up his hands in defense. "Not trying to offend or anything. Just trying to make a point."

"Ah, forget it," said Carmine with a frustrated sigh. "Sheesh, eight years. Hard to believe I nearly faced the chopping block at the time."

Karel raised an eyebrow. "You were almost executed?"

The red-haired thief let out a laugh. "Well, I used to be a thief on the streets of Bulgar. One day I happened to try and pick the Commander's pockets and before I knew it I was face to face with Drake's big and sharp friend." Her laughter died down, leaving her with a content smile. "Thought for sure the Commander was going to off me then and there. Wouldn'ta blamed him for it. But he actually offered me a place in the company, can you believe that? Commander's crazy as a drunk but I'm grateful all the same. If it weren't for him, I'd probably be dead by now."

"Or slobbering on the floor of some tavern hung over," added Gil with a good bit of snark in his tone.

"Stuff it!"

Carmine left Karel and Farah to berate Gil, but the man had suddenly found new interest in a conversation with Ko. Up ahead, Drake and the Commander seemed to be engaged in some genial conversation. The Commander seemed to be in much better spirits of late, Karel had noticed. The man ate more frequently with the rest of the company and generally just seemed happier. Maybe he was just happy to have an easy job after the last few.

There was a shout from one of the caravan guards. A group of horses and their riders were heading straight for them. The wagon riders immediately started whipping the horses and pulled the wagons into a circular formation while the guard took their positions around them. Morgan stood at the front, prepared to meet their guests. No one had drawn their weapons yet, but many looked ready to should the situation turn sour.

The riders numbered five strong. Upon the shoulder of one was a stitched the head of a falcon with thick red thread. The men pulled their mounts within twenty paces of the caravan and halted. None had drawn their bows but they were clearly on guard.

"Hold, outsiders," spoke the man with the falcon on his shoulder. "What business have you in these parts?"

Morgan gave a nod to the head guard and stepped forward. "Greetings, warrior of the plains. This is a caravan of the Etrurian Merchants' Guild under the flag of Lord Dalton of Etruria. We are on our way to Lycia for a delivery."

The rider's gray-black eyes flitted from Morgan to the caravan and back. "Turn back. This is the land of the Djute and we have made clear that we will not tolerate outsiders upon it."

"With all due respect, we are not within Djute territory," said Morgan. "This is territory under the direction of Chief Hassar of the Lorca."

The rider's eyes narrowed. "You should not be here."

"The same could be said of you," said Morgan calmly. "We stand upon Lorcan ground. Or will you insist upon attacking this caravan like you did before?"

The rider's steely gaze gave way to confusion. "Before? I do not understand your words, outsider."

"Morgan," clarified the Commander. "This caravan was traveling well within a path protected by Chief Hassar and the Djute knowingly and willingly violated this protection to raid and destroy one of Lord Dalton's caravans. Survivors attest to seeing the red falcon flying as the arrows rained down upon them."

"Then you had best have the wax cleaned from their ears," said the rider. "We have not attacked any of your wagons."

"And we're just supposed to believe this?" barked the head guard. "It shames my lordship to be faced with such bold-faced lies. We should-"

Morgan held up his hand to cut him off. "The men of Sacae are many things, but liars are not among them. If they say they have not attacked any of these wagons, then we would be best to believe them." The guard scoffed but Morgan silenced him with a glare. He turned his attention back to the patrol. "We will continue through these lands on our way. If you seek to impede us, realize that your actions amount to raising the blade against Chief Hassar personally. I do not believe you would wish to tell your elders or chiefs how you sparked a war between tribes over something as silly as this."

The rider regarded Morgan with a steely gaze. "Your words do not frighten me or any man of the Djute. Do you think we fear the Lorca?" He spat the ground and glared at Morgan for a moment longer. "Be on your way."

Morgan responded with a polite smile. "Many thanks. May the winds ride at your back."

The men didn't respond and urged their horses off towards the west. Morgan gave a nod to the head guard and within minute the caravan had reassembled into the long line formation and was once again on its way.

"That was a bit close for comfort," said Farah as she and Karel joined the Commander and Drake.

"Agreed," said Morgan, "but all the same, it has raised some curious questions."

"You mean how they claimed no knowledge of the raid upon the last caravan?" asked Farah.

"They did not claim lack of knowledge, Farah, they claimed that no Djute had struck any of the wagons," clarified Morgan. "It is an important distinction."

"So then who were the men that attacked Lord Dalton's caravan?" asked Farah.

The Commander smiled. "Good. Now you're starting to ask the right questions." He crossed his arms. "I cannot give any concrete guesses at this point. Whoever attacked the caravan went to great effort to hide themselves as Djute."

"Is it possible that another clan was responsible and tried to pin the blame on the Djute?" asked Karel.

"It is possible, but I would question such an action. Sacaens are prideful people, as you are likely far too well aware. Things such as deception and disguise are seen as dishonorable and cowardly," replied Morgan.

"Yeah, but it still never stopped the Temaril from insisting the Djute were behind those raids," said Karel. "Ko once said that they were prideful to a fault, that they would sooner try to prove their pride right than shamefully admit to being wrong."

Morgan smiled. "It's an interesting theory, although I would consider such a thing an extreme case. Nevertheless, you make a good point."

"Do you think it's just some bandits trying to cover their tracks?" asked Farah. "We've already seen something like that with Hearst in how he manipulated the Temaril."

"I would be inclined to think so as well," said Morgan.

"Looks like Ko might get his bandit job sooner than he was expecting," said Karel as the gates of Bulgar came into sight along the horizon.

-x-

Xingke sighed as he unrolled another scroll. The light from his candle did little to relieve him from the afternoon heat. His eyes gave the document a cursory glance before he signed his name to the end and rolled it back up and sealed it with wax. He gave a glance towards the pile still in the tent and let out a sigh. There was no way he was going to continue doing this. He already was ready to pull out his hair; a few more of these and he very well may.

With a puff he snuffed out the candle and adjusted his robe before stepping out of his tent. The light from the sun very nearly blinded him after the darkness of his tent. As his eyes adjusted, he took a better look at the sky. The sun had passed high noon but it was still well into the middle of the afternoon. The campsite bustled with activity. Women carrying jars upon their heads hurried back and forth between tents while men tended to the horses and preparation of the morning's fresh game. Off past the elders' tent Xingke could hear the strained shouts of the boys' afternoon training. He allowed himself a small smile and went to see how the training progressed.

His fingers rolled along the pommel of his sword, his eyes observing the careful sword swings of the new batch of trainees. They were boys no older than twelve, hardly close to manhood. They were not yet worthy of being called brothers. There was no shade for the young ones to take cover from the sun's rays. Three had already passed out from the heat and there were at least five more that were coming close to Xingke's eyes.

"That is enough!" shouted their trainer, a gruff old trainer known as Kuli. His green hair had faded quite a bit over the years, now looking more like new snow than the fresh grass of the plains. A number of the youths dropped their trainers almost immediately while others used it like a crutch for support. "You are done for the day. Get some water and some rest."

There was a mumbled thank you before the boys slinked away to their tents. It was hard to believe that one day the future of the Djute would be upon the shoulders of these boys. Xingke took a long drink from his canteen and left the grounds. He cast a glance back towards the elder's tent. The smoke rings still hovered overhead. Whenever the smoke rose above the tent, it meant that the elders were in session along with the tribal leaders. The tent was at least five times larger than a common tent formed a giant circle from which the entire camp formed around.

The meeting had started since the crack of dawn and after all those hours it still continued. No doubt there was much on their minds of late. The recent debacle with the Temaril and the bandits put just about the entire tribe in a foul mood. There were complaints about how they could have ever let such a disgusting group of raiders go unnoticed in their territory. Of even greater concern and anger though, was the knowledge that the Djute owed Hassar of the Lorca for returning their people to them.

Many of the clan members had honestly expected Hassar to use the Djute women as hostages in some bid for power. Xingke had laughed out loud when he had heard that one. The man he had met was anything but a power monger. He never said such things though. Xingke could only imagine the words the elders would have for him if they had discovered he had deliberately withheld information from them.

"Oi, Xingke!" The swordsman turned his attention to his left and had to repress a sigh.

"Good day, Julaktil," greeted Xingke politely.

Julaktil was a large man by Djute standards. He towered over the men of the tribe. His copper-toned skin almost seemed to gleam in the sunlight. While he wore the traditional tunic of the nomads, it did little to hide his impressive physique. His green hair was braided in the back and reached down to the small of his back. He had not cut it since his entry to adulthood and said that he would not cut it until he tasted defeat.

The man gave Xingke a toothy smile. "It is no longer Julaktil, my friend. Now, it is General Julatktil." He pulled back his right sleeve to reveal the red falcon tattooed upon his arm. Sure enough, the fifth feather now adorned the wing, proof of his promotion.

Xingke's eyes couldn't contain his surprise. "Congratulations. May Father Sky's wisdom guide you and our people. If I may ask though, what prompted the sudden promotion?"

"I was submitted to the Rahk Nan," said Julaktil. "It was only two days ago that I underwent the trial and passed before the elders."

Xingke nodded. The Rahk Nan was an old term that meant "Spirit Trial." It was considered a great honor to be selected for a Rahk Nan and almost every Djute that had underwent the trial successfully had become a pivotal and historical figure in the tribe. The elders occasionally had specific visions regarding particular individuals in the tribe. The Rahk Nan was viewed as the test of the spirits, Father Sky, and Mother Earth and to pass it was to obtain their blessings.

"While I am happy for you, my friend, I assume you didn't just come to see me to gloat though," added Xingke wryly.

Julaktil let out a hearty chuckle. "No, I did not. Accompany me."

They passed the inner circle of tents reserved for high ranking military members and the elders. Julaktil didn't utter a word as he strutted through the camp, his head held back and his chest puffed out. It was hard not to notice the veritable giant as he went through the camps.

"So are you going to share where we're going or are you going to remain cryptic, friend?" asked Xingke.

"We are headed to the stables. There is something interesting and confusing that I have heard from a recent patrol," explained Julaktil. "I felt it would be best if I heard it again but with an additional keen set of ears."

"I'm flattered." Julaktil was strong of body but not quite as strong of mind. He was a warrior first and foremost, the type of man to act first and ask questions later. Those instincts had made him a recognized figure among the clan and he had quickly become one of the commanders of the nomads. There had been rumors for a while of when Julaktil would become general. Xingke couldn't help but wonder if the timing of the Rahk Nan was just a little too convenient.

Xingke and Julaktil had been the most unlikely of friends. He was a swordsman while Julakitl was an archer. He was like a placid lake while the general was like a raging fire. Julaktil had taken to Xingke quickly though, after the swordsman saved his life on the field. While he was hotheaded, Julaktil was not stupid and often called upon Xingke when he needed counsel. He was happy to oblige.

The Djute camp had multiple stables throughout the site. Trying to keep all the horses in one particular place was troublesome for a number of reasons. For one, it was difficult to manage that many animals in one place and such a massive building was impractical for their traveling purposes. As they neared the tent Xingke saw a group of nomads waiting around a fire outside. As Julaktil approached, the men immediately stood up and greeted him with a bow akin to the Greeting of the Plains.

"Men, this is Commander Xingke," stated Julaktil. "I've brought him with me because I would like you to share the story you shared with me with him."

"Sir!" The leader of the patrol gave the same bow to Xingke, which he returned. "I am Captain Mulger, sir. Commander Xingke, while on our patrol yesterday we happened across a group of trade wagons that ran close to our territory."

"Trade wagons? The Etrurian noble's no doubt," mused Xingke.

"Indeed," confirmed Mulger. "We stopped them but we let them pass after a brief discussion with an outsider named Morgan."

The name seemed familiar but Xingke couldn't quite pinpoint why. "Very well. What seems to be the problem then?"

The leader cleared his throat. "He accused us of attacking the wagons before. I told him otherwise and he seemed to believe it, despite the words of one of his comrades."

"Hmph, there's a first," said Julaktil, earning him a snicker or two from the other men.

Xingke pondered the patrol's words for a moment before turning to the general. "What do you make of this, General?"

"I think that this Etrurian weakling is ashamed to admit he was robbed blind by bandits and is blaming us for his own ineptitude. These men insist that they have not attacked any wagons and I see no reason to doubt them."

"I concur with your second point, but I harbor doubts with the first," said Xingke. "One does not simply toss oil on a fire in hopes of squelching the flames. To accuse us of something like this is rather bold, to put it mildly."

Julaktil dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "You and I both know that outsider is aligned with that traitor Hassar and his soulless tribe. No doubt this man thinks he can hide behind the cover of the Lorca. If he continues to accuse us from behind them, we will make him realize just how fragile that shield is."

"I would wager my tent that this noble has been raided several times before his accusation," said Xingke calmly. "Yet not once has he ever accused us of being responsible for those incidents."

"Are you saying that he is telling the truth?" growled Julaktil.

"I do not know," said Xingke. "But I would make the point that this Etrurian nobleman would not sling such accusations around as casually as you claim. At the same time, I do not doubt the truth of our people either."

Julaktil closed his eyes and nodded. "I see. This is quite the mystery. I will be meeting with the elders soon and I intend to make this incident known."

"I can only imagine the frustration it will place upon them after the more recent matters," said Xingke.

"Yes, but that is why they are the elders. They exist to handle the mysteries and problems that plague the tribe," said Julaktil. "I thank you for your counsel."

"Of course."

Xingke watched as Julaktil made his way back in the direction of the smoke rings. He bade the patrol farewell and upon returning to his tent through himself upon his mat. The news was troubling to say the least. Why claim the Djute responsible? Even a mouse knows better than to agitate a lion. He was confident the patrol was not lying yet he was certain that the Etrurian wouldn't make such an accusation without some modicum of proof to back up the claim. While he hoped Julaktil was right about the elders being able to fix it, he was highly doubtful even they could see there way out of this mess.

-x-

He tipped the glass to his lips and nearly dropped the mug. His arms were sorer than they had been in some time but Karel supposed that was the price he paid when he spent almost the entire day cooped up in the training grounds. It wasn't just his arms either. Every muscle in his body ached and it was only with great effort that he had even made it to the pub in the first place. That and Ko practically dragging him with the other guys.

Commander Morgan and Gil sat across from him and Ko, listening with some mild amusement as Ko shared a story of a time he nearly bagged an antelope with a single arrow. Drake sat at the head of the table, his attention solely upon his ale. Karel was only half listening; the other half of his attention was focused upon trying to ignore the feeling in his muscles.

He inwardly sighed. Even after a year of dedicated training, he still had not mastered Astra. He had made progress, of that there was no question. Whereas before he could only manage two, now he could place three of the blows with perfect precision. The fourth was coming but he struggled to see how he would ever manage the fifth.

"So in the end it got away?" asked Gil as he took another swig from his mug. "What a let down of a story."

"Well, you got something better then?" challenged Ko. "I don't ever see you offering anything, bloody critic."

"That's cause I ain't got anything interesting to share," said Gil.

"Or rather nothing that he wishes to share," added Morgan with a smile. Gil shot the Commander a withering look that said, "talk and I skewer you." The Commander seemed to not notice as he contentedly took a long drink.

Drake laughed as well. "Speakin' o' antelopes, wasn't there that one time when Gil flipped 'is lid on his first job 'ere? Thought it was some guy sneakin' up on him when it turned out to be a terrifyin' rabbit."

"You freaked out over a bunny?" repeated Gil, doing his best not to burst into laughter on the spot. "Mister Calm Cool and Collected?"

Gil turned his gaze away. "First time on the plains and it was just after a bad bandit attack. I was edgy."

Morgan gave the man a reassuring grip on the shoulder. "We all know and we've all been there. It's just it's far more humorous when it happens to you."

The table burst into laughter and even Gil cocked a half-smile before finishing his drink. Every now and then all of the male mercenaries in the company would just go out for a night on the town. Oftentimes it just meant going to a pub and letting loose. While he never did too much of the talking, Karel found it was one of the few times where he truly felt relaxed and at ease. It could also have to do with Morgan's one policy: no talking about work.

"Oi, Karel, you have to something to share," said Ko. "I don't think in all the times we've talked we've ever gotten a story out of you."

"Aye! Let's have a good one, lad!" chuckled Drake in agreement.

Karel held up his arms in defense. "I really don't have anything to share, at least nothing humorous."

"You'll 'ave ta do better than that, lad," said Drake.

"I'll say, especially with an uncle like yours," said Ko. "I still remember that man, drunk as a fool, bumbling over to those Ilian cuties. What I wouldn't give for some of that confidence."

"Raidal's always been like that," said Karel as mentally sighed. "The old goat always has a witty line or little lesson for everything. That and he doesn't listen to a damn thing I say."

"Well isn't that because your uncle is always right?" asked Morgan with an amused smile.

"He certainly seems to think so," said Karel as he chuckled. "One time he got this great idea to teach me how to ride a horse. I've never been more terrified in my life or wanted to stab something as much as I did after that day."

The table shared a laugh at that one. "Given how horses seem to react to you, ever think you did something to piss them off in another life?" asked Ko.

"Probably," said Karel with a sigh. "Wouldn't surprise me at the very least. Of course my uncle's reasoning was, 'Father Sky and Mother Earth are in everything and probably just think you need a good kick now and then,'" said Karel in his best old man impression for the group.

Everyone burst into laughter at that one and he could feel Ko give him a slap on the back. "See, you can tell good stories," said Morgan reassuringly.

The Commander called for another round of drinks and the company of men simply sipped their beverages. A group of fellow mercenaries at a nearby table were engaged in a very loud conversation. From the sound of things it had something to do with their last job, something Karel took interest in with only half his attention.

"So, we get called out for this group of bandits, see?" started one of them. "Simple enough, right? I mean, what mercenary can't take care of a bunch of stupid thugs?" The others murmured their agreement, encouraging him to go on. "So, we get out to the place. It's to the north, kind o' near the Ilian border so it's cold enough to freeze ya to yer bones. We get out there. It's this old abandoned village from the looks, probably ten or fifteen years I'd wager. We get there and we just stopped dead in our tracks."

"What happened?" asked another.

"They were all dead. Every last one of the bastards," said the man. "Not a single bandit alive. Mind you, we didn't tell no one and still got the reward, but it was creepy as hell. Never seen anything like it."

"What do you mean?"

The man's voice dropped lower but Karel could still hear it. "The bandits…they looked like they was caught with their trousers down. Every one of them either had a look of surprise or complete terror on their face. And that's not all. They were running."

"Running? From what?"

The man let out a very audible sigh. "What do you frickin' think? From whatever was killin' 'em! It musta been bad too, 'cause I ain't never seen men with that look on their face."

"Who do you reckon done it?" asked a new voice.

"I'd wager," said the storyteller slowly. "It was the Reaper."

There was a nervous laugh from the table. "Y-you're not serious are you? Isn't that just a story mums tell ta shut up their kids?"

"Oh no, these ain't stories," said the man grimly. "He's real, I can promise you."

"What makes you so confident?"

"I've seen him."

The table went silent for a few seconds but they felt almost like minutes. Finally one of them spoke up. "When and where?"

"It was two years ago, on a journey back from the east," said the storyteller. "Only caught a glimpse, but it was all I needed. White hair, so white it seems like fresh snow. Twin swords at his side and a robe that was as blue as the sky."

Karel's complete attention was now upon the man's story. He could feel his hand grip the mug tighter than before.

"He looks ordinary enough, but when you're around him, you can feel it," said the man. "His very aura reeks of death. The man, if you can call him that, radiates it like the sun does heat. I didn't linger more than two seconds before I was runnin' as fast as my legs could take me."

"It couldn't really be the Reaper, right?" asked one man weakly.

"You know the stories," said another. "He wanders the plains, a wraith in human form, seeking the lives of countless others with his blade. Some say he's not even a human but a phantom that brings death wherever he drifts to. To encounter the Reaper is to meet death itself."

"J-just stop! This is getting too creepy!" bemoaned one of the men. The table immediately burst into laughter and proceeded to tease their friend. Karel could tell they were done, but it didn't ease the feeling in his gut.

"Karel?" He snapped back and looked at the table. They were looking at him with looks of confusion or concern.

"What?" he asked.

"You okay?" asked Morgan. "You look like you're ready to rip the handle off that mug."

Karel glanced down and saw his knuckles were shockingly white. He forces his hand to relax and only then realized just how tight he had been gripping the thing.

"Yeah…I'm fine," he said, although it didn't sound terribly convincing.

"Maybe it's time we call it a night," suggested Morgan. The others agreed and the five took the old cobblestone road back to Clara's Tavern. Karel hung back, turning over his thoughts.

"Were you a bit perturbed by their story?" asked Morgan suddenly.

Karel nearly jumped when he realized the Commander was right next to him. "N-no. Not really."

"It's all right if you are. There are some tales out there that are truly terrifying," said Morgan. "The story of the Reaper is no exception."

"Do you believe what those men were saying?"

Morgan nodded. "Every story starts from a truth. Though that truth may be blown out of proportion, it doesn't change that part of it."

"I see."

Neither spoke for a few moments. Karel had been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't even realized they were already back at the tavern. He was about to step in when he felt Morgan put his hand on his shoulder.

"Don't feel like you have to bottle everything up all the time. Though we may not be the most functional, this company is still a family. You aren't alone here," said Morgan before giving him a reassuring smile.

Karel stopped for a moment. Did he know something? Since his time here Karel had said next to nothing about his reasons for joining yet somehow it felt like Morgan saw to the heart of the matter almost right away. The young swordsman let out a sigh and went upstairs, crashing almost immediately when he fell asleep.

-x-

The moon was high in the air. Mulger kept a sharp lookout as he restrung his bow. The rest of his patrol was already fast asleep. It had been four days since his patrol's return to the camp to relay the information. Upon conferring with the elders, General Julaktil had urged them to head back out and see if they could uncover any further information. They were close to where they had encountered the wagons last time. Perhaps if they searched further, he would be able to find some answers.

The sound of the ravens filled the night air. For some reason their caws filled him with a sense of dread. He glanced up at the sky, completely devoid of the moon. It was a new moon tonight, and it made the blackness of the night seem even darker than before. He finished stringing his bow when he heard something unusual. It was familiar, low, and almost sounded like rumbling. The ravens took to the skies as though sensing what was coming.

Mulger's eyes widened as he realized it was the sound of horse hooves closing in. He gave a shout to the men to rally them. No sooner had he shouted than a volley of arrows rained down upon them. Mulger threw himself to the side and snatched up his quiver. One of his men was not so lucky. The others were on their feet, their bows drawn but it was clear their eyes hadn't adjusted quite yet to the darkness.

The horses were surrounding them, keeping just enough distance that Mulger couldn't get off a decent shot but that allowed them to strike freely. He loosed a couple of arrows but to no luck. Suddenly the horses all charged in at once. Arrows claimed the lives of two more of his men before the horses ran down the other two. Mulger loosed an arrow and heard an audible grunt from one of the men.

He suddenly felt something sharp bite into his shoulder. He nearly dropped his bow as a warm liquid soaked his tunic and slowly slid down his skin. He could hear another horse coming and turned to face his foe only for a sword to cut clean through his bow before he was kicked to the ground. The rider dismounted and stood over Mulger.

He raised his sword overhead. Even in the darkness, Mulger could make out a crest upon the base of the blade. He'd seen it before, he realized in shock, upon the swords wielded by the Lorca.

The blade came down, a sole sliver of silver amidst the blackness.

_A/N: As my beta put it, this chapter felt a bit different since Karel was a bit less of the focus. Still, seeing as this is his story, I figure everyone else deserves at least a little time in the limelight. Next chapter things will heat up in earnest. Til then, thanks for reading!_


	10. Seekers

Chapter 9: Seekers

Xingke dismounted from his horse, a chestnut stallion, and stooped low to the ground. Gently he pulled the tall grass aside and put his fingers to the ground. The dirt was still moist and clung together like half-dried mud. He wiped the earth from his fingers and pulled the horse by the reins as he continued to search. The early morning drizzle had been light, much to his relief. Had it been heavier, they could be out here for hours and find nothing.

"Commander Xingke!" called a young nomad by the name of Kalel. Xingke stepped lightly through the blades of grass.

"Did you find something?" he asked curtly. The young man nodded. He removed his skinning dagger from his belt and cut away some of the grass to make it clearer. Xingke knelt closer to inspect what he saw. They were horse tracks. As he pushed more of the grass aside, he saw more nearby. It had to be at least the size of a regular patrol from Xingke's cursory analysis.

"What do the tracks tell you, young Kalel?" asked Xingke.

The young man chewed on his lip for a moment, looked at the tracks and then the area around him. "From what I can tell, the tracks are pretty recent. I'd say less than a day old. As for the direction, they appear to be headed in the west." He cocked his head to the side as he took another look at the tracks. "I don't think these are from the Djute patrol Mulger was leading."

"What makes you say that?" Xingke inquired as he mounted his horse.

"I was in Murgel's patrol for a bit myself, Commander," said Kalel. "Murgel always had us ride in single file behind the leader. The idea was that if we were being tracked, by riding in a single line we would be able to mask our numbers."

"Murgel always was a cautious one," quipped Xingke with a reluctant smile. "If that's the case, we can't afford to tarry another minute. I have a hunch we're getting close."

Kalel nodded and mounted his horse as the two took off to the west. They had been at this since early dawn when Mulger and his men never returned. Naturally no one thought much of it at first but as the minutes turned to hours, General Julaktil began to express concern over the missing patrol. Xingke had offered to track them down; the general's hands were still full dealing with the whole Temaril incident as well as getting accustomed to the traditions of his new title.

He had taken Kalel with him at Julaktil's urging and the young nomad had proven to be a boon in their protracted search efforts. They had no idea where the patrol would even be at this point and had started near the beginning of their route, taking time to search wherever they found something suspicious or peculiar. The sun was nearing high noon when they'd finally stumbled upon the tracks.

The pair rode hard for several minutes. Off in the distance, Xingke noticed something peculiar; it almost seemed like a black cloud of some sort but he had never seen a cloud linger like that before. As they drew closer, a distinct humming reached his ears and he suddenly realized it wasn't a cloud. It was a swarm of insects. He dismounted, his hand close to his sword lest the worst should happen. The insects scattered momentarily as he drew near.

The sight before him stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Commander?"

Xingke cleared the bit of bile rising in his throat. "We've found them Kalel. Or rather what's left of them."

Kalel brought his horse over and dismounted. When he joined Xingke his eyes went wide with terror and he turned around before emptying his stomach on the tall grass.

The Djute commander called upon all his years of training and experience to keep his mind and body under control. The patrol had been massacred. This wasn't an ambush. Ambush implies that there was some degree of civility in the attack or that perhaps there was a slim chance Mulger and his men could have turned the tables. This was outright butchering.

Many of the bodies were completely unrecognizable. They were covered in dozens of stab wounds and lacerations. From the looks of things, their attackers decided to have their horses trample their corpses for the fun of it after as well. Almost all of them were just red bloody messes. Behind him Kalel let out another retching sound.

"Wait here," ordered Xingke.

"C-commander, I'm fine," he said weakly.

"Don't feel the need to subject yourself to something like this. Even the most experienced warriors would have issues with this scene. Take a moment and just try to get your body back under control."

He gave a feeble nod. "Yes, Commander."

From the look of things, Xingke counted five bodies. That meant one was missing. He pulled aside the tall grass and stopped when his boot made a crunching noise. He slowly lifted it away to reveal a broken arm. He pulled aside the rest of the grass. The body was not in much better shape but at least this one's head was still intact. He gingerly lifted it out of the mud and let out a sad sigh. It was Mulger.

He pulled Mulger up by his armpits and dragged him back to the circle where the rest of his men's corpses lay. He began to gather up the bodies into a pile when he noticed something shining in the sunlight. It was partially covered by the mud. He reached for it and cut his finger when he tried to grab it. It was a sword he realized.

With greater care, he lifted the weapon out of the dirt and wiped it clean on his robe. His eyes widened in shock. Embossed upon the base of the blade was a lion's head with a flame in the background. He had seen this many times before; it was the crest all Lorcan weapons bore. The lion was a shared symbol of both the Etrurian merchant they did business with as well as the Lorcan people.

Xingke took the blade and handed it to Kalel. "Keep it safe. That right now may be our only clue to the truth behind this."

Xingke searched over the rest of the bodies for any remaining valuables that hadn't been destroyed or damaged beyond use. Afterwards, the commander opened up his flask and poured the water at the base of the bodies. He then produced a flint and tinder and started a fire that slowly consumed the patrol in its crimson blaze. As the smell of burning flesh filled the air, Xingke spoke the Rite of Passing in its entirety and offered his prayers to the departed.

It was mid afternoon by the time the fire had turned to ash. The commanders' mind was still riddled with questions he had no way of obtaining the answers to. He desperately wanted to believe the answer forming in his mind was wrong, however, he could not deny what his eyes had witnessed. He mounted his horse and without another word, the two sped off for home.

-x-

Hassar stalked the area around the tent, pounding his footsteps deliberately into the ground as his eyes surveyed the area. Silence hung in the air until he heard a small giggle. He turned his attention to a collection of pots where he spied a lock of emerald hair sticking out. With a grin he slowly walked over and then lunged forward. There was a delighted scream as he pulled a small girl of seven out from her hiding place.

"Little girl, you can't escape the lion," he said in a deep voice. "And now I'm going to eat you!"

"No you won't!" said the girl adamantly. "My father will slay you and rescue me!"

"Oh? And what makes you think that?" he asked, a smile growing across his face.

"Because my father is the strongest person in all of Sacae and won't be beaten by some smelly old cat!" she replied with a smile that stretched from cheek to cheek.

Hassar let out a laugh as he put her on his shoulders. "Is that right? Is he a mighty and brave warrior?"

"The bravest," she said with a giggle.

"Well, I suppose I won't eat you this time," he said once again in the deep voice. "I would hate to cross my claws with the blade of such a powerful and mighty man." The two shared a brief laugh as Hassar began the walk back to their tent.

He felt his daughter give a brief tug on his hair. "Can we play again?"

"Not right now, I'm afraid," said Hassar. "Your father has some important stuff to attend to."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Grown-up stuff."

He was sure if he could see her face she'd be pouting as hard as she could. "That's what you say when it's secret. Tell me."

Hassar chuckled at his daughter's insistence. "Lyndis, I wish it were secretive. Then it might actually be fun for a change. No, your father generally has the most boring job in the world. That's why he has you around to make things fun."

Lyndis made a humming sound as though she were thinking. "Well, if it really is that boring, you wouldn't lie, so I guess it is a good thing I'm here. Otherwise you and mom would never do anything fun."

"Exactly."

He stopped in front of the ger and scooped her off his shoulders before gently setting her down. Lyndis rushed past the flap and into the arms of her mother who tended to a pot over a low fire. Hassar removed his robe and set it upon a hook as Lyndis recounted their game of hide-and-seek to Madelyn.

"It sounds like you two had a very busy morning," said Madelyn.

"She's got a lot of energy," remarked Hassar as he took a seat. "It's a wonder where she gets it all from."

Madelyn saw the look in his eyes and smiled briefly before she had Lyndis sit off to the side. "Mesard was looking for you."

Hassar stopped before he brought his canteen to his lips. "Mesard? That's unusual. I thought he had left to meet with the Yamen clan."

Madelyn nodded. "I wonder if something has happened. He seemed oddly distracted when we spoke."

Hassar took out his pipe and lit it. "Mesard has had his hands full of late dealing with the Djute in light of the Temaril incident. Between the amount of traveling he's been doing along with the stress his job as diplomat brings, it wouldn't surprise me if the man hasn't been getting enough rest."

"I wonder." Madelyn put her hand to her chin in thought. "Mesard had said that the Temaril incident was tied off, even if the Djute weren't particularly happy with it."

"I have yet to find an instance where the Djute have been happy with any of my actions," said Hassar as he quirked a half-smile.

"Do you think something more could have happened?" Madelyn asked.

Hassar took a moment and sucked on his pipe. There was much he admired about Madelyn. She was beautiful and even in the clothes of the plains she still retained a certain regal beauty from her days in Lycia. More than that though, Madelyn had a strong spirit. She was not afraid to speak her mind and say what she felt was important. When he had first met her those years ago in Caelin, he had been unsure what to think. No woman in Sacae acted like the way she did and it drew him to her like a moth to a flame.

"I do not know. I know Lord Dalton wanted to open a new trade route that ran dangerously close to Djute territory. As his allies, we are obligated to aid him. Perhaps there has been an incident and we have yet to be aware of it."

"There are times where I cannot help but feel your relationship with Lord Dalton has made things more difficult for you," said Madelyn, the concern clear in her voice.

Hassar tried to ease her conscience with a small laugh. "Do not let it trouble you, my love. It's true that our alliance has made things more difficult in some respects, but no one can deny the benefits our friendship has brought. Every Lorcan has clothes they can call their own and for the first time in centuries every member of the tribe can enjoy at least two meals a day. If the price for that is some disgruntled traditionalists, then it is a price I am more than happy to pay."

Madelyn nodded and smiled. "You are right. I think I just worry with all these things going on around us."

"Someone has to worry for me since between the elders and the tribe's duties I certainly don't have the time to," he said with a laugh. "I guess I'll just have to thank the spirits that I have a wife who's able to care for both of us."

"Chief Hassar!" came a short voice from outside the ger. Hassar exchanged a look with his wife before emptying his pipe and loosely securing his outer robe once again.

"Who is it?" he asked calmly.

"Chief, I come bearing an urgent message from Elder Levin!" Hassar stepped out of the ger and saw the messenger was completely winded. It looked like he had run almost the entire distance.

"Levin? What news does he bring?"

The messenger handed him a scroll with the Levin clan's seal. Hassar broke the wax and unfurled the item. The writing was swift, almost choppy with how fast it appeared to have been written. The writing was more in fragments than it was in true sentences. Hassar's eyes narrowed as he read the scroll. He rolled the parchment and turned back to the youth.

"Thank you for delivering this so swiftly. Get some rest and return to Levin as soon as possible." The messenger gave a grateful bow and departed. The message felt surprisingly heavy in his grip. He left the grounds of his ger and quickened his pace until he reached the general's tents. The guards gave him a nod as he stepped inside to the surprise of his three generals.

"Chief Hassar," spoke General Itoh. The others stood up and were prepared to give the Greeting but Hassar waved it away.

"We do not have time for formalities, my brothers. Light the torches."

The generals' eyes widened as they comprehended just what Hassar was ordering them to do. Itoh gave a solemn nod. "As you wish."

"Make haste. I want to call the Council of the Lorca to order by sunset."

-x-

Karel pulled the hood over his head after the first few drops of rain began pelting his face. The sprinkle swiftly turned into a downpour. All around him the people of Bulgar acted to quickly get out of the rain. Others started rolling out their barrels to collect what water they could before the weather passed. He remained a solitary figure along the roads amidst the downpour.

He found the tavern he'd been looking for, a quaint and aged place known just as Marble's, named after the old lady who ran the place in her husband's recent death. The man had always been somewhat sick according to those who frequented the place, but within the last year his health had taken a turn for the worse and it had been a slow trek towards the end from there.

Karel stepped in and hung the dripping cloak over the back of one of the chairs. He placed a rather safe and plain order: a bowl of stew and a glass of water. The food came out piping hot. The young serving girl gave him a smile before she shyly left him. He took a bite of the stew. It wasn't as good as Clara's but then again he hadn't come here to eat.

He ate slowly. Behind him a group of mercenaries shared a loud conversation about a recent job. Karel listened with only a mundane interest as they recounted how easy their mark had been to track and finish. The group laughed at all the right moments and the story went just about the same as any mercenary tale of their exploits went. It was overly glorified; whenever a man said he fought twenty, the truth was at best half and at worst maybe a fourth. Every fight was either not worth their time or a battle that was won only be the hairs on the back of their neck.

Karel chuckled as he remembered Drake breaking down all of this for him one night. The old sailor had nearly started a drunk fight until he stood up to his full height and the man immediately thought he would rather live to see the next morning and wisely backed down.

Some of the mercenaries laughed. There was the sound of coins being tossed on the table as two of them bade their friends farewell. Karel finished the last of the stew and downed it with the rest of his water. He stood up, strode to the table where two of the mercenaries still sat and sat in the seat across from him. One of them, younger with still some black in his hair regarded Karel with an odd look while the older man didn't make any indication that he'd even noticed Karel.

"One-Eye Garland, right?" asked Karel. The older man turned his scar-ridden face up and fixed Karel with his one good eye. A nasty scar ran down the length of the left side of his face. His stubble was as gray as his hair. Between his chiseled face and the two-handed sword resting casually against his chair, the man gave the aura of one prepared for a fight and who enjoyed starting them as much as ending them.

"Who the hell are you?" he growled.

"Karel."

Garland seemed almost bored. "What do you want, boy?" His emphasis on the last word was clear enough to sum up his thoughts. Karel remained impassive and unflinching.

"I wanted to talk with you. I was told you were the man to see if I had any questions."

"Well, we're talkin' ain't we? Spit it out so I can get back to enjoyin' my time."

Karel leaned back lightly in his chair. "Your wound on your face," he gestured to the grotesque scar. "You got that from the Reaper, didn't you?"

Garland's one blue eye narrowed as he straightened in his seat. "Yeah, I did. Lucky one eye was all that demon took from me. What's it to you though?"

"I'm looking for him. I want you to tell me where I can find him," said Karel calmly.

Garland didn't speak for a moment and then burst out laughing. His partner chuckled uncomfortably with Garland. Karel's expression was as immovable as stone.

"Is this some kind of joke? What the hell do you want with the Reaper? Not feelin' like you lived a long enough life or somethin'?" wheezed Garland between laughs.

"No joke. And if you want a reason, I'm looking for him so I can kill him." Karel's voice was cold as ice. Garland didn't laugh this time and even his friend seemed more on edge.

"You? Kill him?" repeated Garland. "You might as well stab yourself now and save the time. A boy like you ain't never gonna kill him."

"I'd rather be the judge of that myself," shot back Karel. "I didn't come here to hear you constantly misjudge my abilities to fight or deal with your condescending remarks. Now are you going to give me what I asked for or not?"

Garland rested one arm on the table. His expression had become quite grim. "You want to know where to find that spawn from hell? I don't know and I'm speakin' truthfully. No one knows where that phantom is or where he'll pop up next and no one wants to."

"But you were the one to encounter him most recently," said Karel. "There had to be a general area."

"It was to the west of here, about twenty five miles. Halfway between this city and the Etrurian border. 'Course it was over three months ago so he could be on the other side of the plains for all I know." He took a long drink of ale from his mug. "That's all I know."

Karel stood and fastened the collar of his cloak. "I see. Thank you."

"Lad, wait," said Garland suddenly.

"What?" asked Karel indifferently.

"I don't know what that thing did to you to make you want to find him, but from one mercenary to another, don't go throwing your life away."

Karel turned. "I'll keep it in mind. If that's all, good day."

He pulled his hood up as he stepped back out into the rain and slowly made his way back to Clara's tavern. Since that day with the men of the company, he had begun an investigation into the whereabouts of the Reaper. He had returned the next night and confronted those men but ultimately they had not been able to tell him anything. The Reaper kept popping up though. Mercenaries would tell of those who had encountered or seen him and Karel tried to follow every lead that he could uncover.

Each was the same though. Are you trying to get yourself killed? What does a boy want with that demon? If you're serious, you could look here. No one knew where the man was and no one really wanted to. Some said he was in the east, others to the west. One even said he had come across the man in the deserts of Nabata. The man was like a ghost.

It had been almost a week now and the lack of progress was beginning to take its toll on the swordsman's nerves. Even in his training he was surprised at how quickly he became angry and frustrated. He pushed himself harder than he ever had before but he was still no closer to mastering Astra. When he reflected on how easy his father made it seem, he could only feel his contempt for the man deepen.

Of late he found his thoughts turning more often back to his home with the clan. His dreams of the massacre had also come back with greater frequency. It disgusted him. He had left the clan behind in hopes of finally being able to move on with his life instead of feeling dragged down by the past yet that was a lie.

He realized that now.

He was still tethered to the past just as much as they were, perhaps even more so. Maybe that was the reason he was so intent to find this Reaper and put an end to it once and for all.

The door to Clara's Tavern creaked open like usual. He placed his cloak upon a rack and took a seat. Many of the company members weren't around. Ko and Drake had taken off for some job while Gil and Carmine each had their own affairs to tend to. The Commander was locked up in his room doing who knows what and he had not seen or heard from Farah all day, meaning she was likely locked up in her room reading who knows what.

"Oh, you're back."

Karel turned and saw Farah standing at the base of the steps with a book in hand. She had abandoned her usual cloak in favor of a simpler short sleeve tunic and slacks. While it didn't give her the authoritative look she usually had, he certainly didn't disprove of the way the tunic subtly gripped her body to show the curves in her figure. She took a seat at the table across from him.

He just nodded. The two sat there as the silence grew between them. After a moment she set the book upon the table and let out a sigh.

"More tactical tests from the Commander?" asked Karel, finally breaking the pervading silence.

She shook her head, a small smile on her face. "Not entirely. More of a historical perspective. This one is on the history of the Etrurian crown."

"Seems like you study something of everything," he remarked casually.

"Well, the more you know the better you will be able to make decisions. That's true of everything, not just war or tactics," said Farah.

Karel cocked a half-smile. "There are times where you sound like the Commander."

"Kind of hard not to after spending as many years as I have under his supervision," said Farah. "The man's almost like a second father."

"Ah." He recalled the words Morgan had spoken to him that night. "I'm sure he'd appreciate hearing that. He regards the company as a family, if a very dysfunctional one."

"He'd probably just say it's our way of telling him he's old."

"It's not like he'd be wrong." Farah chuckled at his comment. Karel frowned and found his thoughts once again turned back home. How different would it have been if someone like Morgan had been his father instead of Ryland? Would the tragedy have still played out? Would Morgan have changed like his father had?

"You seem distracted," remarked Farah.

"It's nothing," said Karel almost automatically.

"Of course." Her tone showed that she wasn't convinced at all. "That's exactly why you dismissed my question immediately. You could use some work on dodging questions convincingly."

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with," said Karel, hoping she'd take the hint this time.

"Since when has that ever mattered?" she asked with an amused grin. "You've been gone a lot the past few days."

"I thought it was against mercenary policy to pry into others business," said Karel.

"It's not so much a real policy as it is a guideline."

Karel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Now you're just twisting your rules."

"Well, they are my rules, so I don't see why I can't change them," Farah turned back on a dime. Karel made no response. "Going to the arena for some extra pocket change? Met someone new?"

The young swordsman let out a sigh. "I was doing some digging around town in hopes of trying to find someone."

Farah raised an eyebrow. "That's a first. I can't recall the last time you ever went out of your way to look for someone when it wasn't a job."

"That's because there wasn't a last time," said Karel. He rapped his fingers upon the table. "I need to find this person though."

"Is it that important?"

"It is," said Karel firmly. "More important than anything." He clenched his hand tightly until his knuckles turned white. "One day I will find them and then I will set things right."

He was shaken from his thoughts when he suddenly felt Farah's hand on his. He could feel the rough calluses she had developed from their weeks of training. Her hand was warm and firm. He could feel a bit of heat rise in his own face. He had never had someone be so direct as she was being and he wasn't sure how to react.

"You need to stop trying to be so serious all the time," she finally said with a grin. "If this person is that important, I'm sure you'll find them. All you need to do is be patient. Constantly letting it bother you isn't going to do anything other than bother you."

Karel reluctantly nodded. "I'll try."

She gave him a playful punch in the arm. "You'll try? What kind of an answer is that?"

"The kind I give just to spite you," he replied with a grin. He took another look outside. The rain continued to pelt the windows as relentlessly as earlier, but somehow it didn't seem quite as heavy as it did before.

-x-

Hassar sat upon a cushion woven from the thin, soft grass of the south. He wore a brightly colored and ornate red robe inlaid with gold thread. It had been passed down from generation to generation to each new leader of the Lorca. He shifted somewhat uncomfortably; the article was just a bit too big for him.

The other elders and clan chiefs filed in one by one. Each stood across from the pit of fire and bowed before him with the Greeting before taking their seat under their respective banner. Not ten years ago, it would have been only seven on the council including himself; now nearly double that number filled the ger. After the leaders of the visiting clans took their seats, the twin spirit elders of the Lorca, Bron and San, bowed before Hassar and took their seats to his right. To his left sat Itoh, his expression stern and stiff as stone.

The idle chatter died down as Hassar stood before them. "My brothers of the plains, it is good to see you all again. While I would prefer that we honor such a gathering with a feast and dance, that is not why I have called you here today."

His eyes traced over the crowd. All the leaders looked up at him, waiting for the news he had received only two days ago.

"The Djute have made a threat of war against the Lorca," he spoke firmly.

Almost immediately the silence in the room gave way to shouts of protest and declarations of insults against the Djute. Itoh raised himself from his seat.

"Silence! The Chief did not gather you here so that we may bicker like jackals over a piece of meat!" Itoh gave a nod to Hassar before taking his seat once again.

"I received the message only two days ago, from a messenger of the Kelbey Clan. In that time, I have had the opportunity to see the formal letter they sent in full." Hassar extracted the parchment emblazoned with the symbol of the falcon. "The Djute claim that we knowingly and with complete intent slaughtered a patrol of Djute nomads along our border. They demand reparations from us for these actions or else they will take our silence as evidence of our guilt. They intend to move against our people in war if it goes that far," finished Hassar grimly. "I now wish to open the floor to the rest of you with one question. Is there even a possible shred of truth in these claims?"

The room went silent until one of the elders stood up. It was Elder Rockwin, leader of the Rockwin clan, man who seemed to tower over the others in the room between his physique and stature. "My chief, I would refute these lies from the Djute until the spirits take me."

Elder Kelbey, a frail, skinny man whose green hair had turned gray, concurred. "I have watched the borders and our people who pass through. None of our own has ever attacked them in this manner. Furthermore, I would never think there one among us foolish enough to provoke the Djute in such a blatant manner."

The mutterings returned and swiftly morphed into a full agreement that none of the clans or Lorcans would engage in something so dangerous and stupid as attacking the Djute like this.

"A question, my chief," spoke up Temil of the Temaril. "For the Djute to make such a claim, they must have some sort of proof or evidence that they find irrefutable."

"Quite so, Temil," said Hassar. "The Djute claim to have found one of our swords at the site. They described the weapon quite perfectly and I do not doubt their claim on this matter."

Elder Garnen stroked his long wispy beard in thought. "Is it not possible that such a blade was obtained from someone outside our clan? As I recall, Lord Dalton had mentioned one of his caravans was raided some time ago and that it carried some of our weapons upon it."

Kelbey leaned against his staff as he turned to face Garnen. "But did not Dalton also claim the Djute were behind that attack?"

Temil snorted as he laughed. "So what, the Djute attacked the foreigner's trade wagon and then slaughtered their own people just to threaten us? That's absurd. The Djute would never stand for such underhanded practices."

"You talk as though you would know," said Kelbey, his black eye fixating upon Temil.

"You forget that the Temaril used to ride with the Djute for a time. We know them well enough to trust them just as well as we do the Lorca. They would never stab their own in the back like some coward," said Temil adamantly, his voice almost turned to a snarl.

"I agree with Temil," said Hassar. "The Djute are still one of the three sons of Hanon and hold that close to their heart. They would never do something that so blatantly violates the Creed."

The Creed was an unwritten agreement forged between the three brothers shortly after Hanon's passing. It was a series of promises and ideals that all the tribes swore to uphold, lest death take them and cast them into the abyss. Among them was the famous agreement among Sacaens to never speak lies. Along with it was the promise that a fellow tribesman would never murder another.

Kelbey let out an exasperated sigh. "If the Djute are innocent and we are as well, then who killed those Djute men? Both cannot be true."

A younger leader, younger than even Hassar stood. "While I believe we could debate this until the next morning, we have a more pressing concern than trying to unravel this mystery. The Djute clearly hold us as guilty and have made demands of us. How do they wish us to answer them?"

"Mesard raises a good point," concurred Rockwin. "Chief Hassar, just what are the Djute demanding of us?"

Hassar closed his eyes for a moment. "They claim that the payment must be equal to the crime that has been inflicted upon them. First, they are demanding five of our men for the five they lost." Already protests started but were quickly silenced. "In addition, the Djute Chief Mirug has specifically demanded that we cease any and all activities with Lord Dalton."

"That is outrageous!" burst Rockwin. "To demand the lives of five innocent men to slake their thirst for blood is insane enough, but to sever our ties with one of our allies? Lord Dalton has nothing to do with this in the first place."

Mesard cleared his throat. "We all know that the Djute have viewed both the Lorca and the Kutolah with disdain. I think it would not be inaccurate to claim though, that the Lorca have become a much bigger target since our deals with Lord Dalton."

"Warned you," grumbled Temil.

"What was that, Temil?" demanded Kelbey.

"I said I warned you," he said with a smug look. "We knew that your deals with that foreigner were going to cause problems and it looks like my people were right. You raise that man upon a pedestal and welcome him with open arms. The Lorca have abandoned many of the traditional practices. Some clans would even say that you have abandoned your Sacaen pride entirely."

"Would you make such a claim, Temil, knowing you are also considered part of the Lorca?" growled Rockwin.

"We all knew the Djute resented the Lorca for this," said Temil. "They have made no attempt to mask how much they despise our dealings with this man. Have we not learned from our past mistakes? Foreigners bring us nothing but trouble." A number of the leaders applauded or clapped at the last of Temil's words.

Hassar quirked a half-smile. "Yet it was thanks to foreigners that we were able to resolve the conflict between your people and the Djute without any excessive bloodshed."

Temil's confident grin quickly turned to a scowl. He didn't make an attempt to offer a rebuttle and took his seat.

"Lord Dalton has been a valuable ally," began Hassar. "I am well aware that there are those in Sacae who believe we have forsaken our heritage and our pride as a people of the plains by dealing with him. If there is one thing I learned in my years in Lycia though, it is this. We cannot allow ourselves to be so afraid of change that we let it become a poison in our blood. Much good has come from our deals. For the first time in centuries all of our people have clothes on their back. For the first time our people can eat a meal in the morning and midday and not have to worry that they will starve the next. I will not forsake the prosperity our people have seen just because of some tribe bogged down in traditions almost a millennia old."

There was an even bigger chorus of applause for Hassar's speech, especially from Rockwin who stood and bowed. Temil and a few others made no attempt to offer their accolades.

"It is clear to me that there are too many mysteries and uncertainties in this case. I will not simply give in to the Djute demands and validate their claims in doing so. Neither will I allow the murder of our brothers of the plains to go unanswered though," said Hassar firmly. "Kelbey."

"Yes, my chief?"

"You will send a messenger to Chief Mirug that I would call for a summit at Bulgar to resolve the matter peacefully. Tell him that so long as he cannot answer for the attacks upon our ally, Lord Dalton, neither can we answer to him for the crimes his people blame us for."

Kelbey bowed. "It will be as you command, my chief."

"If you call for a summit, my chief, then you must choose a delegate to send ahead," spoke up Bron. "While we may not be bound to all the traditions any longer, it would bode well for us to stand upon ceremony with the Djute."

"A fair point," concurred Hassar. "Mesard, I would send you as the delegate of the Lorca to Bulgar and meet with the Djute delegate."

Mesard bowed. "As you wish, Chief Hassar. I will not fail you."

Hassar stood up to his full height. "The Council will now adjourn. Go forth, my brothers, and may the wisdom of Father Sky and the strength of Mother Earth guide you along your paths."

-x-

Dalton sat in his study, his fingers rapping upon the oak desk. Two letters lay open upon his desk, one marked with the crest of the lion, the other with the signet of the crown. Both were open, their contents laid clear across his desk. He leaned back in his chair, his hands crossed in front of him, as he was wont to do when he was in deep thought.

There came a knock at the front door.

"You may come in," called the count.

The door opened and William gave a quick salute before entering.

"You called for me, milord?"

Dalton allowed himself a gentle smile. "Yes. I have received some rather disconcerting news."

"If I may ask, just what sort of news?" William was ever the dutiful one. He was straight-laced and clean, the consummate professional. Hard to believe at times he was the same man he had met at the tavern with Morgan the other day.

"There's trouble brewing in the east," began Dalton as he turned back to his desk. "The Djute and Lorca are practically at each other's throats right now and the situation could very well escalate to a full out war."

William's eyes bulged slightly in shock. "Are you certain? Just what's happening out there?"

"Hassar disclosed the details in a letter. Apparently about a week and a half ago a patrol of Djute men were murdered and framed with a weapon emblazoned with their emblem. Hassar believes it may be a sword from the shipment we lost a couple weeks ago."

William took a seat in one of the nearby chairs. "That would certainly be a possibility. Both sides claim innocence I'd imagine?"

Dalton nodded. "Hassar is trying to play the role of diplomat right now and has called a summit in Bulgar. He will be there in a week along with Chief Migur of the Djute."

"I'm surprised Chief Migur accepted such a proposition from the way the Djute treat the Lorca."

"Apparently the man can be reasoned with," said Dalton with a shrug. "Hassar is requesting my presence as a third party to help oversee negotiations."

Willaim raised his eyebrows. "That's a pretty steep request."

Dalton let out a sigh. "I agree. It's also a request I cannot honor."

"Not to be rude, but is there something even more important than the potential loss of your largest trading partner?" asked William, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"His Highness has called for my immediate presence at Aquelia," said Dalton as he held up the letter with the royal signet. "I'm afraid my hands are tied at the moment. That is why I would ask you a favor."

William gave the lord a knowing look. "You want me to go in your place?"

The lord gave a reluctant nod. "I realize you had been hoping to spend time with Elise and Marie, but I need your help on this. There's no one else I can entrust this to."

"I understand. I'll make preparations for departure at once," said William.

"I will hopefully be back from the capital by the summit's end," said Dalton.

"A whole week at the capital? That's unusual," remarked William.

The lord let out a dissatisfied huff. "It's the king's insistence for giving Mage General Orran a fond farewell. It's nothing more than an excuse for a few days of debauchery. I unfortunately must go and play the role of the prim and proper subject."

"At least your part is the easy one," joked William.

"Safe travels, William."

"Aye, same to you, milord."

-x-

Mesard sat upon the chair and massaged his temples with his fingers. He had expected negotiations to be tricky but never had he met such an obstinate man as Kalder of the Djute. The man was so damn condescending and arrogant that it was hard for Mesard to not want to gut the man on the spot. It was a sad day indeed, when Sacaens, viewed as the savages of Elibe, were called savages by their fellow brothers.

For the past few days the two had been locked in a room with their retainers on the opposite sides of the room. Mesard tried to present things calmly and rationally. Kalder preferred to make everything into a joke or a farce. Whenever the two bade each other farewell Mesard could feel the tension was thick enough in the room to cut with a knife.

Nevertheless, he had to try. The Lorca, everyone, was counting on him. The last thing he wanted was to only further push the situation down the warpath. While things had been anything but successful, Mesard did feel he was starting to make some progress. In their last deliberation, the two had actually started to discuss the intricacies of the case and it seemed they might actually start to figure out the truth.

Of course, then Kalder insisted that all this heavy talk was poor for the mind and promptly insisted upon getting a drink at the local tavern with his men. Mesard was about ready to throw his chair at the wall and bar the man from leaving but he kept his temper in check and watched as the man smugly left. His laughter still rang in Mesard's ears.

An unexpected knock at the door jolted the Lorcan delegate from his irritable thoughts. He opened it and saw it was the innkeeper.

"Ah, how can I help you?" asked Mesard as he tried to take the edge out of his voice.

"Sorry to bother you, but a fellow just dropped this off. Says it's for you," mumbled the innkeeper.

It was a letter. When Mesard turned it over he was surprised to see the crest of the falcon upon the back. "Thank you," he said to the innkeeper before closing the door behind him.

A letter from the Djute? What did it mean? Why send a letter? Why now? Was it a sign? Had he failed in some way?

Mesard hastily tore the letter open and unfolded its contents. His eyes bulged at the words as his grip crumpled the paper.

"The nerve of that man!" roared Mesard as he chucked the document at the wall. He tried to calm his breathing as he clenched and unclenched his fists. After a minute he bent down and retrieved the letter. He read it again, slower this time. His teeth continued to grit together before he threw the letter upon the bed.

His eyes glanced to the sword propped against the wall. The scabbard was one of the most immaculate he'd ever seen, inlaid with gemstones and gilded along the edges. The wrap along the hilt showed almost no wear, showing just how little it had been used. He retrieved it and after a moment of thought tethered the item to his waist. Mesard took a look out his window and saw that the moon hung high in the sky.

He left his room and closed the door softly behind him. He made sure his night cloak hid the sword beneath it. The last thing he wanted was to cause any undue suspicion. He passed by the rooms of his retainers and could hear the faint sounds of snoring from all three.

With his mind resolved, Mesard departed the inn, a lone soul upon the cobblestone streets. He would find Kalder and he would put an end to this farcical dance, no matter the cost.

* * *

A/N: First my apologies for the long gap between this and the last update. Things have been kind of busy and there were some things that took a while before I felt happy with them. As a heads up, I will be doing most of my author's notes now on my Livejournal page. Feel free to comment on the entries. It can be found here:

bkamiro. livejournal ?r=h (take out the spaces)

The first one will be a more detailed discussion about the political arrangements of the tribes. Thanks for reading and if you have any comments or criticism, please review!


End file.
